Imagine Me and You
by Coiffed-and-Curly
Summary: When Kurt was little, Blaine had promised that he would be there for him always, but forces he couldn't control pulled them apart. And then, years later, fate brought them together again... WARNING, minor character death in later chapter
1. Chapter 1

**This is based off of and inspired by the beautiful book _Sundays at Tiffany's_ by James Patterson. It is my favorite story and I have been wanting to do this for a very long time now. And Kurt and Blaine blended so easily with the world in the book that it made my job almost easy. This would certainly not be what it is had it not been for my wonderful betas vivianagleek, hengilas, and ccmskatechick—all of whom constantly reassured me that this was, in fact, good. So I owe them a lot for that.**

**Please note that there is a minor character death in this story. Also, it is nearly completely written so you can expect consistent updates.**

** And, as usual, I don't claim to own any of the material this is based off of.**

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Every detail of those Sunday afternoons is locked in my memory, but instead of explaining me and Blaine right off, I'll start with the world's most delicious and absolutely delectable cheesecake, as served at the Junior's nestled in Grand Central Station in New York City.

Even at ten years old, I could appreciate the creamy custard, crunchy graham-cracker-crust, and the perfect pile of strawberries oozing over the sides of my generous slice of personal heaven.

Sat across from me at my table at Junior's was Blaine; without a doubt the most handsome man I knew, or have _ever _known, for that matter. Not to mention the kindest, funniest, and probably the wisest.

On that day his warm hazel eyes watched me gape unblinkingly at the waiter as he seemed to place my dessert in slow-motion in front of me, followed by Blaine's choice: a simple strawberry sundae, hold the almonds but extra whip cream. The latter request was always for my benefit—he'd smile fondly as I'd reached across the table to scrape it all off and dish it on top of my own plate.

"Thank you," Blaine said politely, blinking up at the waiter.

To which the waiter said—not a word.

Junior's wasn't the fanciest place in New York. And the one in Grand Central could not compare to the history of Times Square, but that is something my child's brain didn't appreciate. But that afternoon, like every afternoon we were there, it was bustling with busy-looking people hurrying past or occasionally meandering into our world of tradition and dessert.

"All right," Blaine leaned back in his seat. "It's time to play the Kurt-and-Blaine game."

My eyes lit up, immediately scanning the area around us as I fidgeted in my seat.

Here's how it worked: One of us pointed to a table or someone passing by outside, and the other had to make up a story about those people.

"Go," Blaine pointed to a guy huddled in a corner, beanie pulled over his head as he pours over several books sprawled next to many cups of coffee.

My eyes slid over him then back to Blaine, "Student at NYU. Poli-sci major. Worried about getting into graduate school. Harvard. Possibly—hmm, well, probably—Columbia."

Blaine cocked his head at me before laughing. "You definitely spend too much time around adults. That was pretty good, though, Kurt. You get a point."

"Okay," I clapped my hands in front of me and scanned the restaurant. I gestured to a man a few tables away from us. "That man right there. The one that looks like Cary Grant. What's his story?"

Blaine considered him for a moment. "He's come from Connecticut to celebrate his anniversary," he begins easily. "This is where he met his wife, but she passed away several years ago. But he still comes every year."

"Oh," I said, looking down at my lap. I let out a sigh, pushing my fork around on the plate before reluctantly taking a bite. "Yeah… I guess that could be true."

Blaine's eyes widened. "Wait, Kurt, look! I got it wrong. She's here," I look up to see a woman with fiercely red hair take the seat across from the man and take a sip from her water-glass. "She's telling him how happy she is to still be with him after all these years."

"Oh that's a much better story, Blaine," I said, smiling now. "You get a point. Fantastic."

Blaine looked relieved then looked over my shoulder and smiled. "Here's one you won't get."

I got up on my knees and peered over the back of my booth to see the man and woman sitting a couple tables away.

The man was about forty years old, casually dressed but looking uncomfortable in his simple button down shirt. Every now and then he'd reach for his head and make a strange halting gesture before awkwardly running his hand over his balding head.

The woman he was with was about the same age, with a kind smile and even kinder eyes. My nose still scrunched up at the sight before twisting back around to face Blaine.

"That's not funny," I said, but I couldn't help grinning and rolling my eyes at him.

Because the couple was my father, Burt Hummel, co-owner of Bell Books as well as Hummel Tires and Lube, and Carole Hudson, nurse and my father's current girlfriend.

I looked back at them again. Anyone looking at them would immediately know they were happy together.

Every Sunday afternoon when Blaine and I had dessert at Junior's, my father and a friend—sometimes a work partner, sometimes a girlfriend, sometimes he came alone; nowadays it is always Carole—had dessert and coffee there, too. That way he could talk business or just chat and keep an eye on me at the same time.

The Junior's in Grand Central was perfect because afterwards, we would always hop on a train for SoHo. It was all a tradition my mother had started and my father kept up, even if he didn't understand it. I loved the pretty window designs and he loved how happy it made me in the way only those trips could make me.

Sometimes he cut them short: helping run two businesses was hard on him. And after he met Carole, they got shorter and shorter. But of course, I was okay. I had Blaine for company. Blaine, who was my best friend in the entire world, maybe my only friend, when I was ten years old.

_My imaginary friend_.


	2. Chapter 2

**As usual, I don't claim to own any of the material this is based off of. And eternal thanks to vivianaglee, hengilas, and ccmskatechick for their help.**

**Updates to this can be expected every Sunday. (Though that might change so keep a look out!)**

* * *

I moved across the booth to snuggle close to Blaine. "Want to know something?" I asked.

"What?"

"I think I know what my dad and Carole are talking about," Blaine looked down at me and raised his eyebrows, waiting patiently for me to continue. "It's Finn. I think they're going to try to get me and him to _bond _again."

Finn was Carole's son. A couple of my dad's other girlfriends had kids, but I had never met them before; nobody had stuck around as long as Carole had. I had only met Finn twice before, and the last time we'd been dragged to the zoo in an effort to get along.

Finn seemed about as interested in "getting along" with me as I did with him. He was bigger than me, towering over me even though we were the same age, and seemed determined to never let me forget it.

I scrunched my nose up at the memory of him knocking me over in his hurry to see the lions and then shoving me aside when we reached the otters, which were my favorite.

"Why do you think that?" Blaine asked, breaking me from my memory.

"Little things," I said. "Like Carole keeps mentioning how many things we have in common. And my dad said the other day that he's been meaning to make a trip to the stadium this season…" My voice trailed off, betraying my lack of interest in baseball.

"Maybe this time you two will have fun together," Blaine said.

I looked up at him dubiously and he laughed. "I'm just saying. You could make a new friend."

"I don't want a new friend," I pouted, in my head saying _You're my best friend, that's enough_. I shook my head to clear it. "Okay, new topic. Guess what day Thursday is."

Blaine pursed his lips in thought, "Hmm, no idea."

I sat up and glared at him. "C'mon, Blaine. You do too know. This isn't funny."

"Valentine's Day?"

"Stop it!" I chided, hitting him lightly on the arm. He just grinned back at me. "You _know_ what Thursday is, Blaine. It's my birthday!"

Blaine's eyes glinted at me as he smiled. "Oh, yeah, now I remember. Wow, you're getting so _old_, Kurt."

I stuck my tongue out at him. "I think my dad is throwing me a party," I say excitedly.

"Mhmm," Blaine hummed.

"Well, I don't really care about a party, though. What I really want is a real china tea set. You remember, like we saw in that window in SoHo?"

Blaine nodded at me.

"What's wrong? Cat got your—" I started to say but then stopped when my eyes caught my dad signing the check and Carole getting up. Looked like our time was up. It had been another wonderful afternoon, though, for me and Blaine.

"Okay, here they come, Blaine," I whispered, straightening up in my seat. "Look invisible."

My dad walked toward our table with Carole in tow, navigating the crowded restaurant with ease. It was crazy how much like a New Yorker he looked. No one would have guessed that the man was from a small town in Ohio, much less worked with cars for the better part of his life. A lot had happened in five years.

Burt ruffled my hair and smiled as I glared up at him and attempted to pat down my hair into its usual swoop.

"Kiddo," my dad called me that as long as I could remember. "Do you always have to order two desserts?"

I looked at the half-melted sundae on the table. "That's not mine. Blaine ordered it."

My dad raised his eyebrows at me. "Oh, yeah. Blaine, the amazing, ever-present imaginary friend." He looked at the seat across from me, which was empty. Blaine was sitting next to me. "Hello, Blaine. How're you doing today?"

"Hi, Burt," Blaine said, knowing Burt couldn't see or hear him but was playing along. "I'm doing pretty good, thanks." Blaine told me once that actually liked that my dad made an effort with him, most parents ignored kids' imaginary friends.

Carole cut in, attempting to "help" as she turned her head to whisper at him. "Burt haven't you talked to him about—?"

"I'm ten with an imaginary friend, not deaf," I said, frowning at her.

Blaine snorted next to me.

"Kurt," my dad half-heartedly reprimanded me, shaking his head a little. "Come on, I have a meeting today and need to prepare for it." Inheriting Bell Books left little time for anything else these days for him. My face must have shown my disappointment, though, as he sighed and put a hand on my shoulder. "But we can swing by a block or two of SoHo, like usual, yeah?"

"Burt, what about what we were talking about?" Carole asked.

"Kurt, you're perfect the way you are. You're intelligent and witty. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise, okay?" Blaine said as I slid out of my seat.

"I won't," I said.

"Won't what?" Carole turned to me. She leaned down a little to wipe at a non-existent smudge on my face in that way most mothers do and for a second I forgot that I was annoyed at her. "You shouldn't scowl so much, there's so much to be excited about this week, right?" She smiled at me.

I remembered my birthday party again and immediately brightened, nodding at her.

"C'mon, kiddo, let's get going," my dad headed toward the bustling scene of Grand Central.

Blaine stood up behind me. He leaned down and brushed his lips against my hair.

"See you tomorrow," he said. "I miss you already."

"Miss you already, too," I told him.

I turned around to see my dad and Carole just barely through the crowd outside the exit and ran to catch up, waving behind me to where Blaine was left standing in the restaurant.

The following morning, Blaine was waiting outside Kurt's high-end Village building, as he always did. It was a good thing he was invisible: his faded maroon cords, thick wool sweater, and worn loafers wouldn't fit in around the neighborhood.

He was thinking about something impressive that Kurt had said when he was only five years old. Kurt's mom, Elizabeth had passed recently and Burt was making frequent trips between Ohio and New York to get things settled after Bell Books had been left in his hands. Blaine had been concerned about how Kurt was coping. But when he'd asked, Kurt had just shrugged it off and said, "Love means you can never be apart." Blaine knew immediately that he would never forget that—and out of a five-year-old's mouth, no less. But that was just how Kurt was. He was incredible.

So how was Blaine going to spend his day while Kurt was in school? He might stop by at one of his local haunts for breakfast then a stroll through Central Park; it was a lovely day out, after all. He might even get together with a couple other imaginary friends who worked in the neighborhood. _What exactly were the duties of an imaginary friend?_ Basically to just make it easier for the child to fit into the world. _Hours?_ Whatever it took. _Benefits?_ The pure love one can only experience between a kid and an imaginary friend. For Blaine, it just didn't get better than that. _But where did he fit in the great cosmic plan?_ Well, no one had ever told him.

Blaine looked at his watch, an ancient Timex on a worn leather band that had never once stopped ticking. It was 8:29. Kurt would be down any second. He liked to be punctual; never kept anyone waiting.

Then Blaine saw him hopping toward him, but pretended not to, as always.

"Boo!" Kurt shouted, wrapping his arms around Blaine's waist.

"Whoa!" Blaine exclaimed dramatically. "You're sneakier than a pickpocket in _Oliver Twist_."

Kurt grinned, his smile lighting up his entire face. It was a smile that Blaine couldn't get enough of and worked hard to keep there as often as possible. Kurt readjusted the little tie around his neck and then they headed off to Kurt's bus stop.

"I didn't exactly sneak up," Kurt said, looking up at Blaine as they strode side-by-side down the sidewalk of early morning New York. "You were lost somewhere interesting in your thoughts."

Kurt had a cute way of trying to talk without moving his lips when he was with Blaine, so people passing by didn't think he was crazy. Sometimes Blaine let people see him, sometimes he didn't. Kurt could never be sure which—or why. Blaine would just bop him on the nose and say, "Life's a mystery," whenever he asked.

As they rounded a corner, Kurt's stop came in sight. Blaine was reminded of the book _Madeline_, with all the children in navy uniforms waiting neatly in two rows for their bus. It was always strange to Blaine that so many kids should stand still for so long.

"Just three more days," Kurt stopped on the sidewalk. "I just might get my tea set." Once again Blaine found Kurt looking up at him with adoring eyes before he looked away and bit his lip. "But first we have to go see a play."

"Oh? You love plays, though. You don't sound too excited," Blaine said.

"Carole and Finn are coming," Kurt said.

"Ah," I answered, understanding.

"You're invited, too, of course," Kurt's face lit up a little with hope, and then looked back when the bus pulled up to the curb behind him.

"Of course. Can't wait to go. Now, you go and I'll be back at three as usual to pick you up."

"Okay," he said, hitching his bag up on his shoulder. "We can talk about what we're going to wear!"

Blaine laughed. "You can help pick out some nice clothes for me. So I don't embarrass you."

Kurt looked him straight in the eyes, fixing him with a serious stare. And for a second Blaine had a vision of what Kurt might look like as an adult—the determined face, his contagious smile, those intelligent eyes that seemed to burn right through to his heart.

"You could _never_ embarrass me, Blaine," Kurt said with all the sincerity his 10-year-old self could muster. He moved in to hug him tight around the waist again before running off toward the waiting yellow bus. Blaine didn't look away until he saw Kurt slip behind the doors. He waited. Kurt peeked out one of the side windows, as he always did, then waved and disappeared for good as the bus pulled away down the street.

Suddenly, Blaine felt like he _needed_ to blink and look away. He felt as if he had been punched in the gut. His heart actually_ hurt_.

How was he going to tell Kurt that he had to leave him tomorrow?

That was another _duty_ of an imaginary friend—and possibly the worst.

On Thursday after school, after a week of anticipation, Blaine and I got ready. I smirked as I watched Blaine readjust his bow-tie for the dozenth time and I pet the petals from one flowers of the bouquet Blaine had given me after school. The blue roses with white and gold daisies made me feel grown-up somehow. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

When Carole and Finn arrived, Finn looking immensely uncomfortable in his suit, we went to the theatre. I had already seen _The Lion King_, but Carole had bought the tickets as a surprise and because Finn really wanted to see it.

I barely remember the play, Blaine and I were too busy having thumb wrestling wars and I listened as Blaine told me about Shakespeare's _Hamlet_, officially making me feel too grown-up for _The Lion King_. Toward the end of the play, I grabbed Blaine's hand out of excitement and he squeezed back, looking at me and smiling. Everything good was about to happen. My dad was home for my birthday this year, I was getting a party, hopefully my tea set, and I had Blaine with me. Everything seemed wonderful, everything seemed possible.

When we left the theatre, Finn was practically bouncing, babbling about how cool the show was even though, "Puppets are totally lame." I couldn't help but roll my eyes but refused to let Finn ruin my birthday.

"Ready, kiddo?" Burt asked, reaching for my hand as we crossed the threshold of our apartment to only be met with a wall of noise. I blinked, trying to make sense of the view in front of me. I recognized a lot of my father's co-workers, from both the tire shop and the publishing company. Many of them were people I had grown up with and considered friends. I saw Holly, my dad's receptionist and my favorite because she let me have coffee when my dad wasn't looking, break away from conversation and stride toward me with a wide smile on her face.

I looked back at Blaine, just to make sure he was still nearby as always, and from the corner of my eye saw my dad, Carole, and Finn mingle with the crowd not too far away. Blaine nodded at me, squeezing my shoulder for comfort, and I turned back to give Holly a tight hug.

After a few people had come by to wish me a happy birthday and not-so-discreetly slipped me some cash here or there—though Holly had given me a bedazzled comb case—I found myself sat on one of the window seats with Blaine, watching the party go on around me.

I spotted quite a few people I didn't know, which didn't surprise me as much as it should have: when your dad runs two companies, every party is a business meeting. It didn't take long before Blaine and I were playing our game again.

Blaine was interrupted mid-story about an elderly man who was apparently an infamous candy pilferer by one of my dad's friends. Blaine glared at him and my fit of giggles waned when the man began to wish me a happy birthday, commenting on how great of a businessman my dad is and that I should be grateful to have someone like him as my father.

I got that a lot, because of course it was the truth. "I know," I told him. Blaine, beside me, cleared his throat. The man turned to leave and I faced Blaine to see him looking meaningfully at me.

"What?"

"Someone is trying to get your attention," Blaine nodded across the room and I followed his gaze to find a girl my age, hair done up in lavish curls and one of her hands clutched tightly to a man's as he is busy with conversation, wave enthusiastically at me and gesture for me to come over.

"Blaine, you know I don't like Rachel…"

"Be nice," Blaine chuckled, knowing exactly what my feelings were on the…_intense _girl.

"It's my birthday, I can do what I want," I pouted.

Blaine laughed out loud this time. "That's funny. _Go_," he actually shooed me and I batted his hands away as I reluctantly made my way across the room to talk to her.

For about five minutes I let her talk my ear off after the initial birthday wishes before I glanced back at Blaine only to find him whispering something to the piano player my dad must have hired. No one ever played that piano unless they were paid to do so. What was Blaine up to?

I politely excused myself from Rachel and began to head toward the piano when I saw the player stand up. "May I have everyone's attention, please?" The din in the room quickly died down. "Someone… and I'm not sure who… has reminded me that it is a very special day for someone. He's eleven years old today… Mr. Hummel's son, Kurt!"

_Mr. Hummel's son_. More often than not, that's who I was.

I looked down at my feet, blushing, feeling happy and self-conscious at the same time. Somewhere in the crowd I heard Rachel's squeal of delight as everyone's eyes eventually found me. Behind the piano player, I saw Blaine beckon me forward and I stepped toward the raised platform where he stood. "Now, if everyone could please sing along," the pianist said before beginning the notes to the Happy Birthday song, Rachel's voice soaring above the others.

My eyes searched the crowd to find my dad and Carole standing with each other and smiling at me, hand in hand. I reached behind me to find Blaine's own hand, warm and reassuring.

The song finished to a hearty applause before the hum of conversation resumed.

Then I heard a voice call my name. "Kurt! My, how you've grown!" I whirled around to see my grandparents, Jack and Margaret Bell, standing in the doorway.

"Nana! Grampa Jack!" I called, racing through the crowd with Blaine in tow into my grandmother's waiting arms.

I rarely ever saw my mother's parents. Oftentimes, they were out of the country—vacationing or Grampa Jack was dealing with investments here or there. They were stern, but cared for me, and they were my biggest remaining connection to my mother.

My nana hugged back and her perfume smelled so much like my mother's I was taken aback for a moment.

"You didn't think we'd miss your eleventh birthday, did you?" Grampa Jack said from where he was standing next to my dad now. They shook hands briefly and Jack simply nodded at Carole who was politely standing behind my dad.

Nana straightened up and took her place next to Jack as he stared down at me. I nervously looked between all the adults looking at me, not sure what to expect. Then Grampa Jack stepped aside to reveal a box sitting behind him, wrapped in festive paper, and I could not hold back my shriek of delight.

I darted between them and instantly began tearing at the paper. The box was just the right size for my tea set. My dad _must _have told them; somehow grandparents just always knew, right? I lifted up the lid of the box and pushed aside the paper excitedly and my fingers hit something rough—not at all like china.

I hesitantly looked back up at all the eyes still trained on me before returning to the gift in front of me. I reached in and pulled out a glove. A baseball glove, with my name stitched into the side already. Left inside the box was a ball, clean and white and—not a china tea set.

"Thanks, Grampa. Nana," I said, putting the biggest smile on my face that I could muster. "I, uh, can't wait to test it out!" I tried to push all the thoughts of having tea with Blaine, or the Queen, or even Rachel out of my head.

"Sweet!" I heard Finn say from somewhere to my right. He got on the floor next to me and took the glove right out of my hands, pushing me aside a little to get a better look. I didn't have the heart to fight back.

"Okay," Grampa Jack said, dusting off his hands as if he had just finished working on something. "Now we're off to Amsterdam."

I couldn't help it; I felt my heart jump into my throat. "_We_ are?"

Jack looked confused and then pitying. Nana pursed her lips. "No, Kurt-honey. He meant him and I. Amsterdam is really no place for a child. Besides, it's your birthday party."

"I understand," I said, looking at my shoes and trying hard not to cry in front of all these people. "It's just that I've always wanted to go to Amsterdam. Blaine says it's beautiful."

"We'll go sometime, yeah, kiddo?" My dad stepped in.

It didn't matter if my dad meant it or not. I was too sad as I watched my grandparents leave just as quickly as they had come.

I left Finn with the baseball glove and wove my way toward the kitchen to get myself a drink. Blaine hadn't followed me but it was okay because I knew he'd find me soon enough. I nursed my fruit punch and after a few minutes, sure enough, Blaine sauntered in with a glass of champagne in his hand, though it didn't look like he had drunk any. We decided to hide out for a while and picked at the snacks. Blaine complained that there wasn't any cake and I snickered at the truly heartbroken look on his face when an excited shriek sounded from the living room.

We peeked our heads around the corner to find Carole and a bunch of other women surrounding her, all bouncing excitedly. I turned to look at Blaine confusedly before making my way through the crowd.

When I reached the commotion, I caught snippets of conversation.

"—about time!"

"Congratulations!"

"—you're engaged, that's—"

I wrinkled my nose, wait, who was engaged? And then I heard my dad.

"Well it was _supposed_ to be a secret. We were going to officially announce it next week but I guess the cat's out of the bag!" My heart stopped as I caught my dad playfully ribbing a co-worker than wrapping his arms around a positively beaming Carole. My eyes slid to just behind them where I saw Finn pulling on Rachel's hair before running away and my eyes began to well up with tears.

I completely abandoned the party. It was getting late and everyone who mattered had already come to say hello anyway. I hastily made my way through the maze of party-goers and finally found my bedroom. I slammed the door behind me and flung myself onto my bed, burying my face into my pillow. With no one around to see me, I started to cry like the world's biggest baby.

Then I heard the door open.

It was Blaine. Wonderful Blaine, come to save me.

Kurt was sobbing on his bed all by himself when he came in. He didn't look like a birthday-boy. But then, why would he after all of that? Blaine shook his head. _Poor kid_.

Blaine sighed, then sat down on the bed beside Kurt and began to rub at his back in soft, comforting circles. Kurt didn't deserve to be hurt like this. No child did.

"It's okay, Kurt. Let it all out," Blaine whispered, leaning down to kiss Kurt's hair. It smelled of strawberries, like it always did—it was a scent that had become one of Blaine's favorites.

"Alright, but you asked for it." Kurt said as he sat up. Sniffing, his freckled face streaked with tears, Kurt pulled off his shoes and dropped them on the floor. Blaine frowned at the uncharacteristic mannerism.

"I don't think it's _fair_," Kurt's voice cracked as he shuddered with leftover tears. "I don't have any friends and I know my dad is busy but he was actually here this year but all he cared about was _Carole_. And they're getting _married_! And Finn is terrible. My grandparents were here but then they were gone to Amsterdam and I didn't even get to go with—_again._ And I didn't get my tea set either," Kurt seemed to run out of wind then. "I don't even _like_ baseball," he said in a small voice.

Kurt clutched his blanket, pulling it over his lap to tug at loose threads at he continued to snuffle a little and wipe at his eyes occasionally. "You're a good listener. Thank you. I feel better."

Blaine just looked around Kurt's room. It was pure Kurt: books everywhere, some written for much older kids, some written entirely in French. There were drawings pinned to nearly every empty space on the wall around play posters and black-and-whites of Paris. Everything had a place, and yet Kurt didn't seem to fit in anywhere in this life.

Now Blaine had to talk to him there in possibly the only place where he felt safe. The place couldn't have been better, but the timing—after everything that had just happened—could not have been worse.

"You are an incredible, amazing boy," Blaine said. "Do you know that? You better."

Kurt looked at him with red-rimmed eyes and a watery smile. "Sort of, but only because you tell me pretty much every day."

"You're wonderful, _beautiful_, inside and out," Blaine went on. "You're incredibly smart. Clever. Funny. Talented. And compassionate. You have so much to give."

Suddenly Kurt looked very alert. He had just said he was _smart_—and Kurt was about to prove that to him, wasn't he?

"Blaine, what are you trying to say? What's going on? Something's wrong."

Blaine felt his legs weaken and his eyesight blur. _Why now? Why Kurt? Why him?_

"You're eleven now," he forced himself to continue on. "You're practically all grown-up. And so… and so—I'm leaving you tonight, Kurt. I have to go."

"I know you do. But you'll be back tomorrow. Like always."

Blaine swallowed. This was impossible. His heart was breaking.

"No, Kurt. The—the thing is, I'll never be back again. I don't have a choice in this. It's a rule." Just saying those words made him feel worse than he ever had in his existence. Kurt was _special_. He was different. Blaine didn't know why, he just knew he was. For the first time, the rule about when to leave a child struck Blaine as unfair and cruel. He would have rather died than cause Kurt this much pain. But it was true that he had no choice. He never had.

Kurt didn't move a muscle on his face and once again Blaine was reminded of what he might look like as an adult. Kurt looked Blaine squarely in the eyes and said absolutely nothing. There was an awful stillness about him that Blaine had never seen.

"Kurt, did you hear me?" he finally had to ask.

There was a pause that seemed to last forever.

"I'm not ready for you to go," Kurt said, and he burst into tears again. "I'm really not ready."

When Kurt reached across to bury his face in Blaine's shoulder, he could feel that Kurt was shaking. And _that_ just killed him.

_Damn it_, he thought. Then an idea came to him. It was something he had never done before, not with any other child, but Kurt wasn't just any child. He was _Kurt_. Blaine gently pried Kurt off of his arm and lifted his chin until Kurt was looking at him, tears still falling down his cheeks.

"Kurt, I'll tell you a secret. It's a secret I've never told anyone before. And you can't tell anyone either." Blaine leaned in conspiratorially, hoping to pique Kurt's interest. "_It's the secret of the imaginary friends._"

Kurt snorted. "I don't want to hear your secrets." But Blaine kept going.

"Children have imaginary friends to help guide them in their lives. We help them feel less alone; help them find their place in the world, in their families. But then we have to leave," Blaine sighed. "_We have to_. It's always been that way, and it will always be that way, Kurt. That's just… how it works."

"But I _told_ you," Kurt pleaded. "_I'm not ready_."

Blaine let him in on another secret. "But once I leave, you won't even remember me, Kurt. No one ever does. If you ever think of me, I'll just seem like a dream." It was the one thing that made any of this acceptable or even bearable at all.

Kurt grabbed Blaine's arm again and clung tightly. "Please don't leave me, Blaine. I'm begging you. You can't. Not now—not ever! You don't—you don't know how important you are to me." Blaine felt his chest clench in pain.

"You'll see, Kurt," he promised him. "You'll forget all about me, and it won't hurt tomorrow. Besides, you said it yourself, remember? _Love means you can never be apart._ So we'll never be apart, Kurt, because I love you so much. I'll always, always love you."

And with those words, Blaine began to fade out of the room, in imaginary friend-style. As he did, he heard Kurt's last words.

"Blaine, please don't go! Please don't! If you go, I won't have anyone. I'll never forget you, Blaine, no matter what you say. _No matter what_. I'll never forget you!"

Which brings the story to today.


	3. Chapter 3

******As usual, I don't claim to own any of the material this is based off of. And eternal thanks to vivianaglee, hengilas, and ccmskatechick for their help.**

* * *

_Eighteen years later…_

Holly Holliday looked up from her perch behind her computer, narrowing her eyes at me as I walked briskly by. She had worked at Bell Books Publishers for over two decades now and thankfully working under my grandparents hadn't made her any worse for wear.

"You're finally here, Kurt," she teased, turning in her chair to lean back and angle herself toward me. "How kind of you to grace us with your presence."

Everyone is a comedian. I glanced at the clock above her head. "It's not even ten o'clock yet."

She took a sip from her coffee pointedly, "_Some_ of us have been here since eight. Not all of us can be the boss' son."

I smirked. "You said it, not me."

"Yeah, well, today it's not your dad I would look out for." She said, pointedly looking at me then proceeding to pluck the Starbucks bag out of my hand. I was about to fight her for it when I saw her point behind me.

My hand paused mid-reach, "What?"

Just then I looked to see through the glass door my grandmother walking briskly toward me, her heels clicking on the polished marble floor. "_Shit_," I muttered to myself.

I took a quick step away from the door as she pushed it open and fixed me with a look. "Where have you _been_? It's practically noon."

"_It's ten o'clock_," I said, exasperated. _Honestly_, the _one_ day I decided to take advantage of nepotistic privileges granted in the office.

"And where have you been?" she repeated, kissing me on the cheek as her hands fluttered about my shoulders, needlessly brushing off nonexistent lint.

Actually, I had been in my apartment, drinking coffee and watching an_ Oprah _rerun about the latest discoveries on how to quit smoking. I don't even smoke, but that was not going to stop my relaxing Wednesday morning.

I dodged around Margaret and headed toward my office, but she kept at my heels.

She was still regaling me about proper punctuality as I began shuffling through a stack of phone messages.

Five of them were marked "Margaret" and I rolled my eyes. One was from my dermatologist—I'll call him back later, as well as the two from Rachel—and one was from Jesse St. James, my boyfriend. The light of my life, the pain in my neck, all wrapped up in one attractive, charming package.

The next message was from my dad, returning my call from the night before. The only other significant message was from Carl Howell, and it actually was important. He was a wealthy art curator and he was very interested in investing in the production of my movie.

Five years ago, I had gotten the green light from my dad and my grandparents to publish a book I had written. It was based off of a diary I had been keeping since I was eight and was about a young boy and a man in his mid-thirties—a child and his imaginary friend. It was controversial at worst, cheesy at best and I had had a sneaking suspicion that everyone around me believed me to be projecting some sort of latent resentment about my childhood onto this project. So they allowed me to utilize the family business.

The book was called _Imagine Me and You_, and it was based not at all loosely on my experiences and relationship with Blaine, my imaginary friend. Maybe keeping the diary and writing the book had been my way of trying not to forget Blaine. Maybe it was just a good idea for a story.

To everyone's, including my own, astonishment, _Imagine Me and You_ became a New York Times bestseller for nearly two months in a row and continued to make Top Ten lists subsequently after that. Readers, young and old, had loved the story of an awkward young boy and his handsome imaginary friend. People said it defied social constraints and resonated with all sorts of audiences.

Above my desk hung a framed collage of newspaper clippings of my best reviews. My favorite standing proud in the middle:

Imagine Me and You_ is irresistible. The story of the relationship between a boy and his imaginary friend is one that will transcend generations. This story is the perfect combination of charm, tears, and laughter. In a world of hustle-and-bustle, imagination is refreshing. What is more pure than the imagination of a child?_

Of course, _Imagine Me and You_ wouldn't bring Blaine back, but it had brought Jesse into my life. Jesse had come to nearly every book signing I had, asking me out each time until I relented. The rest is history.

When I had been approached for the rights to turn _Imagine Me and You_ into a movie, I was very adamant about having a good amount of control over the casting and production. When my grandparents had found out, they had pulled many strings—of course holding that "favor" over my head when they could. It was because of this that I insisted on raising as much of the money as I could on my own. That's where Carl Howell came in.

Nana Margaret, a nickname I only used nowadays when I was trying to retain my patience around her, was speaking of just the man. "Call Mr. Howell. Right now," she emphasized this by pointing at the phone sitting next to my laptop on my desk.

Eager that I was to placate her, the better to get her to leave sooner and to find out what Carl had to say, I obediently picked up the phone and began to dial. I smirked as my plan worked. She turned briskly around and strode out of my office while I listened to the dull ringing on the other end of the line.

* * *

My boyfriend, Jesse St. James, was ridiculously handsome, but really should that be held against him? I could think of several reasons why, actually. Once, on a beach in the Hamptons, a man had actually walked up to Jesse and said, "Where can I buy a smile like that?" And he'd been completely serious. But that was just the kind of guy that Jesse was. The kind of guy with stormy blue eyes, a perfect nose, high cheek bones, and a chiseled jaw worthy of most Greek statues.

Jesse was a Broadway actor, nominated for a Tony when he was just nineteen. A fact he rarely let you forget. He'd been born with the gift of gossip and an innate ability to sell water to a whale. Once, he'd leaned on his elbow in bed and told me that just the sight of me in the morning made him _spectacularly happy_. Since I am more than well aware of what I look like when I wake up, my response was, "That's sweet, but you're full of it."

Tonight he was meeting me for dinner at Babbo, our favorite Italian restaurant in Greenwich Village. It was a place that my grandparents had taken me once or twice as a child, as it wasn't very far from our apartment. Blaine wasn't ever allowed to come along, I remembered.

I arrived at the restaurant before Jesse, as usual. Once I was seated, I couldn't help people-watching as I sipped at my glass of ice-water.

Across from the aisle from me was a cute couple, a tan woman and a pale brunette man, both in their twenties. His perfectly tailored dark gray suit said "successful businessman." Her manicured nails and bejeweled wrists said "heiress." They were clearly in love, crazy about each other. For the night, anyway.

At the table next to them was another couple in their later forties. She had dirty blonde hair and wore a simple outfit of designer jeans and flowy blouse. He had brown hair closely cropped, wearing faded jeans, and a dark brown suede jacket. They both looked unhappy. I decided they were screenplay writing partners and only staying together for the business.

Yes, I was playing the Kurt-and-Blaine game. And yes, I didn't even realize it. And yes, damn it, Jesse was fifteen minutes late for our date. I don't know why I was even surprised, it wasn't the first time. He had been late to every meeting of ours since we had started dating.

I took out my cell phone and placed it on the table in front of me. I ordered a Mango Bellini, deciding to switch it up from just my usual cocktail, and waited. And waited.

Jesse was now thirty minutes late. Lovely.

That was when I realized that this was the fourth time in a row that Jesse had been absurdly late without even so much as a text. I tried to work up any semblance of concern, like maybe he had been hit by a taxi, maybe he was in the hospital, or maybe he had gotten mugged. But I quickly stopped that line of thinking when I realized it was just my anger talking.

Jesse was more than likely holed up in his personal home studio, rehearsing for his next audition. He was obsessed with getting a taste of another Tony win. I could understand that drive; hell, it was something that I admired in him. How could I hold it against him?

Maybe because he was now exactly an hour late.

A waitress came up to me and asked if I would like an appetizer while I waited. She was one of my favorites, always so nice to me, and she remembered me every time. Well, I _had _been coming here for years. And my second Bellini had made me a little tipsy and consequently, hungry.

"You know what? I think I'll order."

* * *

I remember being hungry—and then I remember being full. I remember seeing my hand, holding a spoon with a giant glob of vanilla-bean ice cream on it. I remember the waiter placing a small cup of coffee and a plate of almond biscotti on the table in front of me.

"I've put the check on Mrs. Bell's tab," the waitress said. "It was so nice to see you again. I hope you enjoyed your meal."

"Everything was wonderful. Delicious." _Well, maybe not everything_.

I walked out of the restaurant to a chilly spring night in Manhattan. Alone. My cheeks were burning, but whether it was the cocktails or the embarrassment of being stood up, I wasn't sure. As I made my way down the sidewalk I pulled my coat closer around my body and my scarf tighter around my neck, battling against the night air.

I felt like I was living that old cliché: When your own romantic life is falling apart, everyone else's looks perfect. Did I really need to see the elderly couple chatting and holding hands in the park? Or the teenagers practically eating each others' faces just a few feet away from where I was walking? No, I certainly did not. Why was everyone in New York suddenly madly in love while I was walking alone with my hands in my pockets?

My cell phone rang and I answered so quickly that I didn't bother with the caller ID.

_Please be Jesse. What will the excuse tonight be?_

"Hello?" I answered a little too breathless, too eager.

"Kurt Hummel?" the voice down the line said.

"Speaking," I said, not recognizing the voice and immediately feeling the bite of disappointing expectations being met.

"This is Verizon Wireless, and we'd like to tell you about our exciting new calling plan."

I immediately hit the end call button and slid it back into my pocket. I fought the urge to just toss the thing into the nearest trash can and be free of it. But of course, if I did, I would only have to dig it out again and knowing my luck, someone I knew would be walking right by at that moment, when I was pawing through the trash, and then my night would be complete.

I swallowed hard and bit my lip, but still felt the hot tears welling up. _Perfect. Crying on the street. A new low_.

I was pathetic. The sooner I came to terms with it, the better. The facts were that I was too close to thirty, I worked for my grandparents, and I was the kind of man whose handsome, too-good-for-him boyfriend stood him up at their favorite restaurant. That was my life.

* * *

Blaine was finishing his second hot dog, savoring every juicy bite, every burst of flavor in his mouth. _Man, he loved street cart food._ _And was he ever hungry! Thank goodness he didn't have to worry about what he ate._

Here he was, between assignments, back in New York, killing time. He was just hanging out; having some fun, waiting to hear what was in store next for him. He'd already seen just about every movie released, gone to his favorite museums, plus visited most of the coffee shops and bakeries on the island of Manhattan in single-minded pursuit for the cup of coffee known to man. And, oh yeah, he was taking boxing lessons.

Yep, boxing lessons. Over the years he had discovered a lot of activities that he enjoyed, many of which he thought wouldn't like at all. Such as boxing. But it made for great exercise, and it really built up his self-confidence. Self-awareness, too. Also, he liked that it him closer to other people, in its own weird sort of way.

Two nights a week, in a sketchy warehouse-made-gym on 8th street, a man with whiskey and peppermint on his breath taught Blaine how to throw reasonably decent punches, how to guard himself against attack, how to get in close and slam into the body of an opponent. He'd pretty much gotten used to going home with bloody noses. And to being called "old man" by his sparring partners, who seemed to like him anyway. But, hell, everyone liked Blaine. That was his job, right?

But he still wasn't used to the ravenous appetite he got after every session. The post-workout hunger was so fierce it could only be satisfied by three or four hotdogs and at least two Cokes from a Manhattan food cart.

Tonight he had ordered his hotdogs and Cokes, and was hanging out on a bench and thinking how nice it was to be back in the city. He'd recently finished a Chicago assignment with a tenacious six-year-old boy whose parents were way too involved with his life. He took too many music classes, did too many sports, had too many tutors, and heard the question, _"And how do you feel about that, Arthur?"_ much too often.

Blaine had stepped in with assertiveness lessons and Artie's parents had come to appreciate his new feisty behavior. Blaine helped Artie to be who Artie was. But then, of course, he'd had to leave the boy, and Artie no longer remembered him. But that was just how it worked, and Blaine had no control over it.

Now Blaine found himself on a vacation of sorts, enjoying himself, people watching (… and looking at guys,) jogging through Central Park, eating absolutely whatever he wanted. He wanted for nothing—literally. All he had to do was snap his fingers and some cash would appear in his pocket. And so he did whatever he felt like doing each day, ate what he wanted and when, never gaining an ounce, and got his head bashed in twice a week. It didn't get much better than that.

As he chugged the last of his second Coke, a man passed by and Blaine's eyes automatically followed him, appreciating the man's trim waist while trying not to be creepy about it. He liked to think that this man looked as if he were trying to put on a brave face, and Blaine smiled, suddenly remembering the way little Kurt Hummel would…

But then…

Wait.

_That certain lift of his chin…_

_The walk… graceful and determined…_

It was strange. But no, it couldn't be.

Well, maybe… _A glance in his direction. Those eyes. No, not _those_ eyes._

_It was him! But there was no way…_

_Could it be?_

His freckles were gone and his hair was swept away from his forehead, the trademark swoop gone in favor of a perfectly coiffed style. He wore a long, dark blue pea-coat and had a leather bag slung over one shoulder.

Blaine's jaw practically dropped. It was completely impossible, but it had to be Kurt.

_Oh God, it was his Kurt Hummel! He was right there, just forty feet away from him._

Blaine practically leaped after him, causing the people around him to stare at him suspiciously. But this had never happened before, Blaine marveled. Never, not ever, had he run into one of his kids as an adult!

Kurt was walking slowly, seemingly lost in his thoughts. So Blaine walked slowly, too, trying to figure out what he should do next. He was at a complete loss—for words, ideas, anything.

Kurt came to a corner and hailed a cab, stopping one almost immediately. As Kurt climbed in, Blaine hung back, unsure. Well, he knew what he _should_ do now. _Let him go, file it away under "bizarre coincidences."_

But that is not what he did. Instead, he flagged down the next taxi speeding down the street. And he said something he had always wanted to: "Follow that cab!"

_Follow Kurt._

The cabdriver didn't disappoint. He hit the gas, and Blaine's head nearly flew back against the seat. _This was so strange. Why was he bumping into one of his kids, all grown-up? It had never happened before. So why now? Did it mean something?_ Closing his eyes, Blaine said a silent prayer. But, as usual, received no answer. In that way, at least, he figured he was just like everybody else in the world: put on Earth for a reason, but damned if he could figure out what the hell that reason was. One thing, though: the longer he was here, the more "human" he felt. Was that a clue? That he was becoming more human? And was that a good thing? Blaine wasn't sure.

After all, what did Blaine know about himself? Not as much as he'd like to, that was for sure. He had a limited memory of his past; he was able to recall only blurry faces, indistinct periods of time. He didn't know how old he was exactly. He did not know exactly how long he had been on the job or how many kids he had looked after. He knew he loved what he did, except for when he had to leave. And he _had_ to go, whether he wanted to or not, and whether the child wanted him to or not. Then there would be a small break, like a sabbatical, similar to the one he was on now. Then one day, he would just wake up in a different place, and he would just _know _the next child, and he would go to them.

Otherwise, all of his needs were fulfilled. He wasn't exactly human, he wasn't an angel. He was just a friend. And he was good at it.

Blaine's taxi followed the one with Kurt inside until it stopped at the corner of Ninth Avenue and West 23rd in Chelsea. Blaine couldn't help but be impressed. Blaine quickly handed the driver some cash, keeping his eye on Kurt. He now had his coat folded over his arm as he slung his bag over his shoulder and strode toward the building.

He looked, well, terrific. Very grown-up. Very… _attractive_. It was so strange, to see his little Kurt Hummel looking like this. Like a man. He watched as Kurt held the door open for someone leaving the building. He was Blaine's same old Kurt.

Blaine hid behind a large cement planter, feeling ridiculous and a bit like a kid playing hide-and-seek, but he couldn't bring himself to leave. The person leaving the building stopped in her tracks and said hello to Kurt, pausing to ask, "How was dinner with Jesse last night?"

Kurt bit his lip and the woman's brows pulled together. "Oh Kurt, he didn't show up again, did he?"

Kurt sighed. "No, Tina, he didn't."

"Kurt, you know what I think."

"I know, I know. I'm an idiot."

"No, Kurt," Tina said passionately, putting a hand on Kurt's arm. "It's Jesse who's the idiot. You deserve way better than him."

From behind the plant, Blaine heartily agreed. Kurt had been stood up! He was now beyond positive it was his Kurt, from so long ago. He would know that voice anywhere. It was more mature, and deeper, but recognizable all the same—still musical as ever. Blaine was happy to hear that Kurt had grown into himself, though sad he hadn't been around to help Kurt through his coming out process. But even after that, after all this time, he was still getting hurt. People were still letting him down, misunderstanding him, and not treating him like the amazing person that he was. Blaine didn't get it. How could anyone stand to hurt him?

But, actually, Blaine had been one of those people who had hurt him; who had let him down. But Blaine had no choice! There had been nothing that he could do about it. Anyway, Kurt had forgotten about him the next day. It almost made Blaine's hurting him not really count. Not like this jerk Jesse.

_But still, why had Blaine run into him again?_

Kurt had gone into his building now, and suddenly Blaine was faced with the woman, Tina, looking suspiciously down at him.

"Um, what are you doing?"

Blaine winced and stood up straight. "Nothing, uh—dropped a penny. I'll just be on my way."

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking."

* * *

My dad and Carole had put up quite a fight when I had decided to move out and get my own place after college. Well, Carole especially.

"Move out? Why? There is plenty of room here, especially now that Finn is out of the house. Kurt, it's so expensive and difficult to find a good place in the city."

I was willing to take that risk.

After my dad and Carole had gotten married, Carole seemed to have been overcome with guilt at seeing my despondency and taken the role of "mother" to a whole other level. It wasn't entirely her fault; I had still been mourning the loss of Blaine. But having extra family members, one of which was the incorrigible Finn, did not help.

Ever since then she had become increasingly overbearing, as if trying to make up for lost time. I didn't fault her for it and it was not always bad. It was another facet on my already interesting family spectrum. She was a kind and well-meaning person and Finn had grown out of his bully and homophobic ways, thankfully.

But even as the movers were taking my heirloom vanity desk out the door, there Carole was. "We'll try it for a few months. And when," she winced at my glare. "_If_—if it doesn't work out, you can come back."

Perhaps even worse than Carole's coddling was my grandparents' attempts to buy me a place of my own. It had taken all of my learned negotiating skills to get out of that trap—goodness knows they would hold that "favor" over my head for years. There was already the book deal.

I was thankful for my dad during that time. His way of communicating things with little words was appreciated after the bombardment of guilt I was receiving from everyone else. His tight hug and sincere reminder that they were always there if I needed them was so him, so us, and it was exactly what I needed to hear.

But even if I ever came to hate my new place, I would not be moving back. Fortunately, that was not the case and my new flat was everything I had hoped it would be. I had found a good place in a relatively decent neighborhood in Chelsea. Even better, I had been allowed to decorate it how I wanted to. I was like a kid in a candy store the first few months after I moved in. It was something that was entirely _mine_.

One of the first touches I had made was setting up photographs on the bookshelves in the living area. Every time I walked by toward my bedroom I passed the twin frames, one of my dad, my mother and I—before the accident—all of us smiling at a waterpark during a trip to Florida. Next to it, sat a picture of dad, Carole, Finn, and I at our graduation. As hectic as my family was, I loved them all.

Tonight, however, I bypassed the photos completely as I immediately went to change into something more comfortable—yoga pants and a worn cotton t-shirt. I padded into the kitchen to find that I had three new messages on the machine.

I pressed the play button. Come on, Jesse. Redeem yourself. Tell me you're badly mauled and in the hospital. Cheer me up.

"_Kurt! Where are you? Are you there… listening? I know you screen your calls. Pick up! Come on, I need the help of my best gay! I need your opinion on—"_

I pressed Delete as Rachel spoke mid-sentence and moved on the next message.

"_This is a reminder from Vogue magazine. Your subscription will soon—"_

Delete again.

One last message. I was pleasantly surprised to hear one of my old college roommates.

"_Kurt, it's Mercedes. Are you sitting?"_

I sat on one of the bar stools at the counter and began tearing a napkin to pieces as I listened.

"_Alright, here's the news. I'm getting married! Do you remember Sam? Duh, of course you do, what am I talking about? Well he proposed! Finally, right? The wedding is in June, on the seventeenth of next year—I know, it's a long engagement. But you have to—have to—be part of the wedding party. You'll like the colors I chose, don't worry your pretty little head. I'll try to call you again tomorrow so I can tell you all about it. I hope everything's going good with you, too. I love you, Kurt. Hope you're well!_" The machine beeped and I accidentally let out a hefty sigh, blowing all the napkin pieces all over the counter and onto the floor.

I was happy for Mercedes, I really was. Really. Mostly.

I gave up on cleaning for now and walked into the bathroom to clean my face and do my usual regimen. I tried to let the routine relax me a bit as I scrubbed my face. But I ended up raw, probably being a bit too rough with myself.

I climbed into bed and pulled my computer onto my lap. For over an hour I took notes for the movie, contract ideas for Carl Howell, and even a few new story ideas as I hoped to publish another book in the future.

But it wasn't long until I was too tired to think and hoped everything I had written down made sense. I set my laptop on the nightstand before rolling over in my bed and promptly passing out.


	4. Chapter 4

**********As usual, I don't claim to own any of the material this is based off of. And eternal thanks to vivianaglee, hengilas, and ccmskatechick for their help.**

* * *

Like anybody else, Blaine had a certain amount of free will, could make most of his own choices. He just had a job to do, a _mission_—to be an imaginary friend to children. And it wasn't a bad job by any stretch of the imagination, so to speak. He oftentimes found himself smiling just because he loved his job so much.

Still, he liked the vacations he got between assignments. He never had any idea how long they might last, so he'd learned to make the most of every day, to live in the moment.

Blaine's flat was in SoHo, one of his favorite parts of New York City, or any city, for that matter. And that night he got back to his brownstone at around eleven, thoroughly shaken about seeing Kurt. Adult Kurt.

_Wow_.

By the time Blaine made it up to the second landing on his way to his fourth-floor walk-up, he could feel the rock music thrumming down from above. He didn't have any doubt where it was coming from: Noah Puckerman's place.

Noah Puckerman. Or, Puck, as he had immediately told Blaine he preferred to be called after they first met. Blaine wasn't sure what to make of the devil-may-care, lug of a man-child. He was pretty friendly, out-going, always made an effort to say hello when they crossed paths in the stairwell or in the lobby. In fact, as Blaine got to the fourth floor, Puck was just greeting a couple of women at the door of his apartment. The women were tall, slender, and beautiful, apparently snickering at some joke that had just been told. Puck was muscular, with a grin that Blaine assumed was hard to resist despite the questionable mohawk he sported.

"Blaine, my man! Come join my party," Puck called from across the hall.

"Uh, thanks, but I'm kind of tired tonight," Blaine said, attempting to duck into his apartment but Puck was already making his way toward him, and then Blaine found a heavy arm draped over his shoulders.

"This is ! And _this_ is Britney Spears," Puck said with a flourish, nodding at both women. The tall blonde gave him a look. "They're both _models_," Puck looked at Blaine as if that held any weight for him. "Ladies, this is Blaine. He's great. He's a secret service agent, but don't tell. Shhhh." It was clear Puck was already a little more than buzzed.

"I'm not an agent," said Blaine as he was dragged into the crowded, loud, and overheated party in progress in Puck's apartment. He heard Puck mutter, "That's exactly what a secret agent_ would _say," before he wandered off.

"Hey there. Hi." He was tugged aside by one of the women. She was the brunette with tan skin and piercing eyes whom Puck had called "." "I'm _Santana_ Lopez. And Puck is a bonehead."

Blaine smiled at her. "Hi, how are you, Santana?"

She frowned. "Not great, but let's not get into that. We just met."

Blaine sensed something was troubling her, and he couldn't resist—he'd never met a lonely, depressed soul he didn't want to try and help somehow. Was it his fatal flaw? He had no idea. He had stopped worrying about things out of his control a long time ago. Well, mostly he had stopped.

"No, it's okay, I'm interested," he told her.

"Sure you are," she laughed. Someone passing by pressed beers into their hands and she immediately went to take a long drink from hers. "Because strangers, much less friends, just love listening to others' problems, right? I'm not looking for a pity party, honey."

"No, I want to. Please?"

She narrowed her eyes at him and seemed to consider him for a second before making up her mind. She took another sip from her bottle and grabbed his arm, leading him into the kitchen where it was less crowded. She proceeded to tell him about how she wanted to become a social worker, which she was working on at Columbia, but all the money from her contract with Ford was too tempting. But that wasn't all. Every once in a while her eyes would flicker over to where the blonde (Britney?) and Puck were huddled in a corner, talking close. Blaine wondered if there was something going on between them.

Finally, she looked into his eyes and smiled almost sweetly. "Blaine, you live across the hall right? Let's get out of here."

"I'm—I'm not—" Blaine stammered as she pulled him through the packed flat, managing to make him bump into nearly every single person they passed.

When they reached the doorway she turned and fixed him with an amused stare. "Don't worry, 'I'm not,' either." Blaine was visibly relieved. "I just want to talk in a place where I can hear myself think and doesn't reek of old Chinese take-out."

Blaine's place was in fact fairly tidy and nicely furnished. It was the apartment of a professor at NYU who was in Prague for sabbatical. Blaine had a knack for finding great apartments, it was just another perk of the job.

Santana surveyed the place, seemingly pleased, before flopping down on the couch, tucking her legs up underneath her. "You know what? I think I'm done talking. Come, sit, tell me your life's story." She patted the cushion next to her. "So, who is he? What happened? What's your damage?"

Blaine laughed at her boldness. "It's funny you should ask. There _was_ someone, sort of. And then today, I think I found him again. Kind of. Uh, it's complicated."

"Isn't it always?" She said critically. She pointed a manicured finger at him. "I've decided I like you. And it would appear my plans for the night have been shot. Do you have scotch? Any sort of alcohol?"

Blaine did (or rather, the professor did) and he pulled out a bottle of rum—which he would replace— as well as a few Cokes from the fridge. They talked until four in the morning, at which point they both passed out on the couch with Santana curled up in one corner and Blaine in the other.

In the morning, gentleman that he was, Blaine made a full breakfast. Santana woke up grumpily, only becoming amicable once Blaine had pushed a mug of coffee into her waiting hands.

She commandeered his shower, and by the time she left was in a considerably better mood. "Thank you, Blaine. I had a… you're not so bad." She went so far as to kiss him on the cheek. "He's a lucky man."

"Who?"

"Kurt. The one you wouldn't shut up about last night, during all those rum and Cokes." She smoothed down her dress as she stood there in his doorway. "Good luck with him."

* * *

At 7:30 AM, I was the very first one in at Bell Books Publishers (with the exception of the mail boy, a tap-dancing, hip-hopping college sophomore called Mike whose energy so early in the morning should be criminal.)

It was only four in the morning in Los Angeles, so I could only send e-mails there. But it was noon in London, and that meant that my phone ringing now was more than likely Shelby Corcoran, one of the heads of the production company in charge of the film for _Imagine Me and You_.

"Kurt! I'm so glad you picked up. We're having a slight problem. Seems that Sebastian doesn't like the kid we've cast."

Sebastian was Sebastian Smythe, the British heartthrob who was playing Blaine. For some reason, everyone had insisted that Blaine have an accent—it apparently made him more lovable.

"Sebastian says he doesn't _relate_ to the boy. But believe me, Kurt, we chose well with this one. He's brilliant, a real heart-tugger."

I sighed. "Look, call Sebastian's agent and tell them it's not too late for us to find someone else." I wasn't entirely sure that I was true. But as much of a hand that I had in casting decisions, Sebastian was not my first choice. The higher-ups wanted a star. But if he did not like working with children, I would have to put my foot down.

Shelby laughed down the line. "You might just have a future in the entertainment business," she said before hanging up.

At nine sharp, my personal assistant, Emma Pillsbury, showed up at the office. Emma was crisp, honest, punctual, and so neat and clean it was almost quirky.

"Good morning, Kurt," she said as she placed a stack of mail and phone messages on my desk. "You get Employee of the Month again."

"Morning," I said. "I know. I'm completely pathetic, aren't I? Please don't answer that." She looked at me with wide eyes and shook her head. I began to sort my messages, placing the "urgent" in one pile, the "can wait" in another, and finally the "call if you're feeling particularly masochistic today" in the final pile.

"Your dad just got in, by the way," she said crisply, turning on her heel and heading toward her own desk.

"Okay, good, I'll go see him—" but before I could finish, I heard two unmistakable voices outside my office. My dad and Jesse. I immediately felt apprehensive.

"You're still around?" my dad said in his sarcastic tone. It was no wonder where I got my own attitude from.

"Kurt and I are inseparable. What can I say, he's stuck with me," Jesse answered, and I noticed he was holding a bouquet of pink tulips that must have set him back a pretty penny.

"Oh, Kurt, look who decided to actually show up," my dad said, walking over to give me his signature shoulder-squeeze. He gave me a meaningful look and I just bit my lip in response. I watched him head down the hallway toward his own office before I turned back to Jesse.

Standing there with his tousled hair, tight dark jeans, and deep V-neck, Jesse looked exactly like a leading man should. He was definitely handsome. And, in theory at least, he was mine.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, _so_ sorry, Kurt," he said, managing to sound almost convincing.

Even though I felt the serious impulse to punch him, I decided to play it a little cooler than that.

"Oh? And what are you so sorry about?" I asked, raising my eyebrows at him.

"Last night, of course. Are you kidding? I never made it to our date."

"No big deal," I shrugged. "I had a very nice meal. Caught up on some work."

"I forgot I had a squash game," he said lamely.

"I understand. Squash is your life," Not even close. Mirrors were his life. I didn't even know he played squash—must be another new hobby to add to his long list of "talents."

I walked into my office and tossed the flowers onto my desk. Jesse followed, locking the door behind him. I immediately frowned, unable to stop myself this time. What was this? Then he took me by the shoulders and kissed me. I sort of let him, and that just made me angry at myself. And at _him_. He was not even that good of a kisser. I pushed him off gently.

"I really am sorry, Kurt." Jesse's hand lingered on my back. "You do know I love you, don't you?" His voice was warm, his eyes super sincere.

Leaning forward, he enveloped me in a tight hug and just held me there. For a moment I did feel safe and warm, the way I used to feel with Blaine. _Why on earth was I thinking about Blaine?_

My mind reluctantly dragged back to Jesse. Handsome, talented, romantic-when-he-felt-like-it Jesse. Maybe I could forgive him this time. Again.

Then I remembered something.

Jesse was an actor.

* * *

Blaine had never done anything like this—not even close—but that morning he'd followed Kurt at a safe, non-crazy-person distance as he caught a cab to West 57th street. Blaine wasn't sure what he was doing, only that he felt compelled to do it. Once there, he recognized the office building where Kurt's cab stopped as Bell Books—Kurt's family's publishing company. Blaine was confused. _Did Kurt work there?_

As Kurt walked inside, Blaine guessed so.

And then, against his better judgment, Blaine followed him inside. _What are you doing?_ he thought. _This would be the perfect time to walk away._ Right now. This is where the madness stops.

But he didn't stop. He couldn't. And as he scanned the lobby, it became clear that Bell Books had expanded and become more successful. Of course, if Kurt was working there, that was no surprise.

He watched the grown-up Kurt as he made his way through the lobby. He waved to several people, and they all waved and smiled back, or paused to talk briefly. It hit him that Kurt hadn't really changed. He was still getting let down by people, and yet was friendly and upstanding. Clearly he was respected and liked by everyone who knew him. Everyone except the moron who had stood him up last night.

Then Kurt disappeared into an elevator and Blaine watched the floor numbers tick to 24 in a matter of seconds.

That's when Blaine made the fateful—and probably stupid—decision to wait for Kurt. Why? He didn't know. Would he even be able to talk to him? Probably not. He could try, though. Maybe. In the meantime, he'd passed a Starbucks about a block back and there were a few biscotti calling his name.

After his coffee break, Blaine went back and hung around the office building, feeling idiotic for lurking but unable to make himself leave. At around noon the elevator doors opened and out Kurt stepped. Unfortunately, a pretty good-looking guy had his arm around Kurt's waist. Kurt removed the arm, and Blaine guessed that this was the loser himself: Jesse.

They went out the front door, and Blaine was right behind them. Even if Kurt happened to glance back, he wouldn't recognize him. He'd forgotten all about Blaine. That was how things worked. Trying to look inconspicuous, Blaine stayed close enough to catch pieces of their conversation. They were talking about something called _Imagine Me and You_, which after some more listening Blaine found out was a book.

Kurt sounded frustrated and Jesse was doing a poor job at consoling him. He kept touching Kurt, though Blaine thought Kurt was making it clear he was not in the mood to be touched. Kurt kept trying to distance himself, and Jesse would just keep inching closer.

Shaking his head, Blaine stayed with them as they walked into a restaurant on the corner. Blaine headed to the bar and ordered an iced tea. He watched them be seated, knowing without a doubt at this point that following Kurt was not a good idea to start with and was only getting worse the longer he stuck around.

Blaine watched their table across the restaurant with increasing irritation as Jesse did all of the talking, and Kurt sat there with a hard look on his face. When he wasn't talking Kurt's ear off, Jesse was working the room, constantly saying hello to this person or that person and even signing some autographs. Who was this guy and what in the world did Kurt see in the clown?

With each new person that came up to the table, Kurt's expression became more and more closed off. But Jesse failed to notice. Finally Blaine just could not stand to watch anymore. He paid for his tea, then left Kurt with that jerk of his. He had no idea what Kurt was doing, but he was an adult. If that was the kind of superficial relationship he wanted, then maybe they deserved each other.

* * *

While Jesse flirted with an obnoxiously blonde male model with a bleached out smile who had seen him in plays _six_ times, I pretended to study the menu even though I wasn't really hungry anymore. _Put me out of my misery_.

My mind focused on the long list of things I still had left to do for that day while Jesse air-kissed the doting fan.

"Mind if I don't go back with you, Kurt?" he asked, finally turning his attentions back on me. "I need to hit the gym." His eyes drifted above my head to the mirror over the bar, stroking his smooth cheek and checking out his different angles.

"No, that's fine," I said. And I meant it.

Besides, I did not want him to catch wind that we were considering recasting the role of Blaine for the movie. I know a lot of people in the office, my grandparents included, were lobbying hard for him to play the coveted part. Partly because he was talented, sure, but also because he would be cheaper. But Jesse was all wrong for it. He just wasn't that kind of an actor. He just wasn't Blaine.

Jesse gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. "Later, babe" he said, and then he was gone. And I was left with the check.

I made my way back to the office building just in time for my phone meeting. The conversation about the production process of the film sounded good so far. I had gotten a chance to see the screenplay and it had my approval. We were dealing with the matter of money and casting right now.

"Who will be playing the make-believe man?" I heard Carl Howell say over the phone.

"Well, he wasn't exactly make-believe," I said automatically. "More imaginary."

The four-way conversation I had been conducting was now eerily silent. Just what I needed: everyone to think I was insane. My dad next to me cleared his throat and made me jump—I had forgotten he was even there. He gave me a supportive smile. Even if it did look slightly concerned.

Shelby spoke up, "I've spoken to the casting director and she's sent out feelers to Gerard Butler's agent, Ryan Gosling, Robert Downey Jr. Even George Clooney."

My dad raised his eyebrows at me as he leaned back in his chair and placed his hands on his stomach. "Not bad," he mouthed silently at me.

I shook my head at him and sighed.

I heard my grandmother over the speaker phone. "You can play the name-game all you want, but we all know we have a leading man who is right under our noses."

I had just had lunch with the person she was talking about, and he was no Blaine.


	5. Chapter 5

**************As usual, I don't claim to own any of the material this is based off of. And eternal thanks to vivianaglee, hengilas, and ccmskatechick for their help.**

* * *

Years ago when he and Kurt had wanted to escape from his constrictive and sometimes lonely world, they would take a trip just the two of them to SoHo. Kurt always said that sometimes those trips were better than the ones on Sundays with his dad, but that Blaine should keep that a secret.

It was always terrific fun. They would play the Kurt-and-Blaine game while ogling the window displays and browsing through vintage stores and boutiques they could never afford to shop in.

Now, Blaine couldn't help thinking, that neighborhood had all the same character and excitement—if not more—in a city constantly changing. It was one of the reasons he decided to live there this time around. Another one of those reasons was the Van Dam Diner. It was a family sort of restaurant with the best omelettes in New York.

Blaine had stopped by this place more times than he could count since he had been dropped back in New York City. This Saturday morning he was there with Puckerman, as a thank-you of sorts for the party at which he had met Santana. He'd had an unexpectedly good time with her—talking about Kurt, apparently.

"So, what happened, Blaine?" Puck asked as they walked to a booth. "I saw that gorgeous girl talking your ear off and then _bam_, you two were gone."

"We talked," Blaine said. "Just talked for hours. She's impressive. Wise beyond her years."

"Talked?" Puck sounded incredulous. "I don't get it man. How a guy can have a chick like that in his place and not _do_ anything." Blaine gave him a look. "Yeah, yeah, I know you're gay, I get it. But I've never been with a woman who wasn't just a means to an end for me."

Blaine couldn't help the mildly disgusted look on his face. "Really? All women are just there for sex to you? Seriously?"

That smile of Puck's was back, the twinkle in his eye. "Now, don't go judging me, Blaine."

"I'm not, Puck, I'm not judging you. It's just… I don't know… there's so much more to women, to _people_ than that. Sure there's the physical, and that's nice, but there's also that deep connection between two people. I think that love can be amazing."

"Ah, you _think_," said Puck, pointing his finger at Blaine and leaning forward. "But you don't _know_, do you?" He gave Blaine his devilish smile. The twinkle, the wink. Blaine almost felt seduced.

Puck threw back his head in a hearty laugh. "It's great, isn't it? The _look_! My secret weapon. Years and years of practice, man. Years of practice." He smiled again. "Didn't mean to turn it on you."

Blaine snorted and shook his head, turning his attention to the crossword in front of him.

A few minutes passed in silence with Puck checking out the Sports section of the paper.

"Give me a five-letter word for 'feeling intense love or devotion,'" Blaine said, pen hovering over the newspaper.

Puck didn't even look up. "Horny."

"And we're surprised you're still single?" said Quinn—intelligent green-brown eyes, very pretty, short blonde hair—who often waited on Blaine at the Van Dam and whom he admired greatly.

Puck just laughed, not at all offended. "What's good today, babe? Besides you?"

Quinn raised one eyebrow at him and took out her notepad.

"Get the eggs," she told him. "They're delicious." She turned to Blaine and said, "He's got that look."

"What look?" Blaine asked.

"You know, that single look," she said, looking Puck up and down. "Kind of hungry."

"Hungry for _you_," Puck leered, giving his best grin.

Quinn rolled her eyes, and they ordered. As she swept off, Puck watched her every move.

"Quinn is very sweet, Puck. Single mom, has a little girl who's three," Blaine told him pointedly.

Puck shrugged and smiled at Blaine. "Doesn't bother me. I like her. She just might be _the one_."

Blaine was dubious. Suddenly he was sorry he'd brought Puck along and accidentally set him on Quinn.

"Don't hurt her," Blaine warned him.

Puck just shrugged at him, then turned his eyes back to where Quinn worked behind the counter.

* * *

I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror, feeling akin to a soldier marching off to war. The pressure was on, but I had done it before and I could do it again. I had less than an hour to completely make myself over—skin, hair, clothes, the works. If anyone ever doubted my other skills, at least I knew this was where I excelled.

I was meeting Jesse at the Metropolitan Museum, and I needed to look my absolute best. There was a cocktail party and reception for a Jacqueline Kennedy fashion retrospective. I would be on Jesse's arm, which meant that I would be watched closely, even jealously. I had to make this work.

Okay, first, I had to set the mood. I put on my best empowering playlist and Beyonce immediately began playing through my iPod dock's speakers. If that didn't pump me up for this, then nothing would.

Second, face the enemy. I stared myself down in the mirror again then closed my eyes and did my best breathing exercises from yoga. The more stressed I was, the more my face would betray it.

Third, arm yourself. I took a final deep breath and went through my skin regimen. I smoothed in creams and scrubbed in exfoliators and rubbed in toners promising to give my skin an instant glow. I inspected my face. Not terrible.

Finally, I went through the tortuous process of wrestling my hair into its most perfect coif—no easy feat for the most practiced of stylists. I tweaked it here and there. It didn't know if it looked different, but I looked damn good.

Suddenly my mind flashed back to when Blaine and I were inseparable.

"War paint," Blaine had called it when my mother or grandmother had put on make-up and gotten dolled up—or when we would see models strutting down the streets of New York. I would watch in awe, toying with brushes and testing the sprays on the vanity in my parents' room.

_Kurt! Focus!_ I threw my shoulders back and flung open the doors to my walk-in closet. I searched through name brands and designers, looking for the perfect outfit. I found a Vivienne Westwood suit I had been saving for a rainy day and cheered in triumph.

On a mission now, I went through the motions of piecing together the suit. I noticed it was a little loose on me and groaned at the thought of _another_ growth spurt_. Impossible_. The only perk that would bring was more Oreos and cheesecake for me.

I triple-checked myself in the mirror, making sure not a hair was out of place. As I took the elevator down to the lobby, I relished the idea of being the one to turn heads for once.

When I climbed out of my cab and took the steps up to the Met, I definitely felt the rush of dressing up particularly well tonight.

Until I spotted Jesse. He was standing at the top, leaning against a column as if posing for a Hollister ad. His jacket was slung over his shoulder and he was slouching _just so_, pretending not to notice all of the glances his way. He stood up straight when he saw me and smiled.

"Wow," he said. "You look great."

"Well, I decided I was tired of you always being the pretty one," I said, attempting to sound flirtatious.

"You mean, the _only_ pretty one," Jesse countered, and tried to soften the blow with a laugh. I frowned slightly, but let him take my hand in his and guide us through the doors.

I was happy, I looked good, but one nagging question kept racing through my mind: Did I really want to put up with this for the rest of my life?

The show was spectacular; I was in my element. And Jesse was clearly in his. He was schmoozing it up with every celebrity and designer we passed, not even paying attention to the outfits in the exhibits. As I was inspecting one particularly inspired dress, I felt a tap at my shoulder to find him pouting at me.

"I'm exhausted, let's sit down," he pulled us to a tiny cocktail table in a corner. He immediately snapped his fingers to order us a couple drinks.

Before he had time to even take a sip, however, I looked up and saw Harmony de Garnier, Jesse's obnoxious, pushy agent, walking toward us. She was arm in arm with Dustin Goolsby, Jesse's equally snakelike business manager. My eyes narrowed.

"Kurt, look who it is!" said Jesse, full of delight. "Harmony! Dustin! What a coincidence. Why don't you two join us?"

I was speechless and already the cogs in my mind were turning, trying to think ahead of whatever it was that Jesse was obviously plotting.

And then I realized. I had been set up.

I should have known better. Jesse had been on time for the first time ever.

"How interesting that we should all run into each other tonight?" Dustin practically purred.

"We were all drawn by the glamour of it all, I suppose," Harmony said, seeming to talk to the room at large instead of anyone in particular.

"I'll go get us more drinks, shall I?" Jesse said, but Dustin practically fell out of his chair beating him to the punch.

"No, I work for _you_. I'll get them." He strode off to the bar.

Harmony was tapping her nails repeatedly on the table, smiling like a Barbie doll at me. My skin was crawling.

I suddenly found Jesse's arm around my waist, gripping me tightly. I felt claustrophobic.

Dustin returned quickly and they didn't waste any time before they attacked.

"We're going to cut to the chase, Hummel," Dustin said. "Hamony and I, and Jesse of course… well, we just want to know when you'll finally agree to sign him on for the lead of _Imagine Me and You_. He deserves it, don't you think? Of course you think so. Everyone does."

I completely bypassed being sad that this had happened and fell straight into being furious. "I don't think this is really appropriate. Plus you know I don't have _that_ much sway over the casting decisions."

"Oh, but isn't it fun to talk about? And don't pretend," Harmony added, and the way she smiled with all her teeth seemed a little threatening to me. "You're the writer and a _Bell, _after all. You have connections."

It was most certainly_ not_ fun. I chose to ignore the rest of what she said.

"You _do_ plan on giving me the part, right?" Jesse actually sounded a little nervous. Or maybe I hoped he did.

"Sebastian might still pull through," I said crisply. _He won't, but I don't want you to screw up my movie, either._

My whole romantic future seemed to be disintegrating before my eyes, and before the eyes of two vultures like Harmony and Dustin. I hated this.

"I just don't think you're right for it," I told him, biting my lip. "I'm being honest."

"I have won a Tony!" he practically shrieked in the echoey show-room. I felt like I was watching a toddler not get the toy that he wanted. This is exactly why I did not bring it up.

Jesse seemed to inwardly meditate for a moment. Then he said in a quieter, somewhat restrained voice, "I want that role, Kurt. I deserve it. It could be my big break into the film industry."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I didn't say anything. His face turned red and he puffed out his chest. "Fine!" he shouted, and strode out of the museum.

I was left with Harmony and Dustin staring at me accusingly. I turned my chin up at them and did my best to walk quickly out of the building and into a cab. Once inside, I let out the breath I had been holding. I felt stupid, and so much weaker than I should be.

* * *

Blaine was starting to become comfortable with his stalker status. Perhaps a little too comfortable. _This is the last time_, he promised himself. _Tonight, it ends_. An hour or so earlier, Blaine's jaw had nearly hit the ground as he watched Kurt strut out of his building looking determined and absolutely stunning. He'd then proceeded to trail him to the Metropolitan Museum.

Blaine thought that since Kurt looked better that maybe he had recovered from this Jesse joker. Maybe Blaine could be happy for him and be comfortable knowing he was okay. Maybe then it would be time for him to disappear again.

But about an hour after Kurt had walked into the Met building, Blaine was following Kurt back home. But this time, his cab stopped a few blocks short and Kurt just wandered aimlessly for a while—walking slow and looking uncharacteristically dejected.

He seemed so alone to Blaine, and so miserable. Obviously something bad had happened at the museum. Blaine had little doubt that it had something to do with Jesse.

Blaine could tell Kurt was attempting to put on a brave face but was failing. More and more, Blaine could not help but to blame himself. He had made him a bunch of promises when Kurt was just a kid. He had told him, and Kurt had believed eagerly, that someone amazing would come along and see how special he was. It was clear that still had not happened. Blaine wanted to help. But how? Kurt was not his responsibility anymore. He couldn't interfere.

But oh, how he wanted to. His heart went out to him. When Kurt was younger Blaine would sit and listen to him get it all out, then hug him and hold him close and that is all Blaine wanted to do now—just to comfort him.

So what should he do? It really didn't take much thought before he found himself following Kurt inside a bar.

Blaine positioned himself at the opposite end of the bar from Kurt, behind two large, out-of-towner types. They had two pitchers of beer between them nearly empty already and the bowl of peanuts in front of them was quickly dwindling.

Kurt ordered a vodka cranberry. He looked straight out of a 50s Hollywood film sitting there, cradling his glass and leaning on the counter.

Blaine noticed that despite their being red-rimmed, the life in Kurt's eyes was still there. Blaine smiled just a little.

For an insane moment, Blaine imagined himself getting up to talk to him. Kurt wouldn't know who he was, after all. He would just be another guy in the bar. Blaine knew what he should do, but what he wanted to do was go up and talk to him. Blaine didn't know how to act in this situation—which was so rare. Normally he always knew exactly what to do.

None of it made any sense.

Blaine was pulled out of his reverie by the bartender asking for his order. "Uh, nothing. I… have to be somewhere, I just remembered. Thank you, though."

The man just shrugged and made his way to the next person. Blaine got up, feeling off and not at all like himself. He ducked down and headed for the door. With one last look at Kurt, Blaine took a final moment to admire just how gorgeous of a man he had become.

"Good-bye, Kurt," he said softly, and then left.

* * *

The vodka cranberry hit the back of my throat just right, and I watched myself make a face at the taste in the mirror across from the bar. What better way to relive the cliché of feeling ridiculously sorry for yourself? I couldn't help but feel as if my life was filled with obligations and constraints; each silver lining rusted.

I was a 29-year-old man who had been sucked into working for the family business. And while I enjoyed it most of the time and was more than happy at the prospect of inheriting Bell Books, sometimes I wished I had been given the chance to explore my options. I knew my dad had told me multiple times that I could go out and become whatever my heart desired, but there was no way I could abandon him to my grandparents and an ever-changing business.

Speaking of my dad, I had loving, providing parents. My dad may not have always been able to be around when I was a kid, especially after my mom died, but he really put in the effort. And Carole tried so hard. Over the years, Finn had even become tolerable—especially after offering to take over the tire shop for my dad. How could I begrudge him after that? We all did not spend nearly as much time together as I would have liked, but I was grateful.

I even loved my grandparents, despite their old-fashioned ways—in both their business and personal lives. I had come to be able to navigate their instructions with ease and they slowly came to tolerate my "lifestyle choice": no longer making veiled attempts at setting me up with women or gifting me season box tickets to sporting events.

And I had a boyfriend. Yes, _had_ a boyfriend. Past tense.

I stared at myself in the mirror. I knew I sounded whiny, _but don't we all deserve to sound whiny every once in a while?_ I rationalized with myself.

I shook my head and sat up, turning my body out toward the rest of the bar as I crossed my legs. Just as I did so, I caught the eye of two men standing right next to me, grinning and clutching mugs of beer.

I tried to covertly look them up and down. Their wrinkled sport jackets looked out of place even in a dive sort of bar like this. But they looked like they would be out of place anywhere in New York—and that was saying something. I really did not need this sort of attention right now.

"Hi there," said Thing One. "My friend and I were wondering if you wanted some company."

"No, thank you," I said stiffly, trying to turn back to my drink, but they were too close. My knees would brush too close for comfort. "I'm just trying to relax after a long day. I'm good."

"You just seemed a little lonely," said Thing Two.

"No, really, I'm fine." I clenched my jaw and tried to fake a smile. "Thank you for asking," I said pointedly, trying to shift away again.

Thing Two raised a hand to flag down the bartender. "Hey man, this guy could use another drink." He turned to flash a smile at me that I assumed was meant to be charming but only came off as mildly threatening.

I looked the bartender hard in the eyes and shook my head, waving my hand. "No, I really don't want another. And I'd rather not be bothered right now."

Thankfully, the bartender got the hint. "Maybe you two gentlemen should move back to the other end."

They stared at me and then shrugged. As they stalked away, I could hear them muttering. I caught the words "uppity" and "bitch." Great.

I sighed and turned back to stare at my reflection once more. But something caught my eye. My heart immediately jumped into my throat and I blinked multiple times to try and see more clearly. It was _completely_ impossible. For just a moment, I had seen a man leaving the bar; a man looking at me.

A man who looked exactly like Blaine.

But as soon as I had seen him, he had disappeared out the door.

I took a sip out of my now watery drink, my hands shaking badly. It was completely ridiculous. My mind was just playing tricks on me after a stressful day. Of course Blaine would be the person I would want to see most.

Blaine was imaginary. He did not exist.

Had I really wished so hard for him that he reappeared for a moment?

I dug my nails into my palm. _Wake up, Kurt. It could have been anybody._

I took a deep breath and paid for my drink, leaving a generous tip. Then I stepped outside and began the trek home.

I knew I hadn't seen Blaine. Of course I hadn't. But the important question was w_hy had I never been able to forget him?_

* * *

I spent the rest of the weekend pretending not to wallow in my apartment. I accomplished my hermitism under the ruse of having to get work done, when in reality there had been a stack of DVDs starting with _Bridget Jones' Diary_ and a bottle of wine with my name on it.

But even by noon on Sunday I was tired of myself and decided to take a walk. I put a decent amount of effort into my appearance and was pleased to see I hadn't puffed up at all—if anything I looked a bit pale. I pulled on my favorite coat and stepped out into the warm afternoon feeling much better about things.

Until I started walking down the street toward the park and some jerk started honking his car horn at me.

I turned to see that the obnoxious asshole was Jesse. Jesse, in his shiny red convertible, pulled up to the curb, and giving me the most apologetic look I had ever seen outside of guilty puppies.

"Let's go for a ride," he said in his most charming way, which was not difficult for him. Charming was easy.

I refused to fall for it, however. "I'm supposed to meet my dad for lunch today. I haven't seen him in a while and he's been feeling a little under the weather," I said smoothly.

"Just give me an hour, that's all I need." I inwardly snorted. I knew that well.

"Not after the other night, we don't have anything to talk about," I started walking down the street again when he shouted at me.

"I'm a changed man!" he yelled, and I couldn't help but turn around and look at him with wide eyes. "And I can tell you why if you'd just give me the chance to explain."

I sighed and looked around for a moment, fiercely fighting with myself before giving up and climbing into the car. Jesse happily revved it and we were off.

"I'm sorry my stupid temper got the best of me the other night, Kurt. I just always had this vision of us working together, as this creative team. It would be spectacular. You the writer and me, the talent," he glanced at me, and for a moment I was nearly blinded by the glint from his smile. "I guess I misread things and we were on different pages. I had thought about it a lot, though. It's my dream. Honestly."

I furrowed my brow, not really buying any of it and seriously wondering where he was going with not only this but where he was driving us. For a moment I wondered if he was above kidnapping to get what he wanted.

He reached over to rub my knee and I would have flown out of the car had it not been for my seatbelt, I jumped so high. I realized we were crossing the Brooklyn Bridge. The view across the water was picturesque, but we had never been there together. Why were we there?

The curb he pulled up to park I was not entirely sure was legal, but he didn't seem concerned with that. He smiled at me once again and then his hand reached for the glove compartment and pulled out a small, velvet-covered jewelry box.

I felt like I was going to throw up. _This_, I had not been expecting.

Jesse opened it to reveal a dazzling platinum band practically sprinkled with blue gems I could only assume were sapphires. I tried not to hyperventilate.

"Kurt, I know we work. I've got the ring and you've got movie. Let's make a trade, babe," he looked up at me with big, hopeful eyes.

I felt it happen in slow motion, before I could even register that I had even done it. Because, for sure, had I had time to think about it I probably wouldn't have gone through with it. Maybe. Most likely. But I watched myself slap him and then felt time rush to catch up. The next thing I knew, my hand hurt and Jesse was clutching his face in near-tears.

Oh my God. _Oh my God_.

That is when my second instinct, which in hindsight really should have been my first, kicked in. I sucked in a huge breath and said in the most calm voice I could manage, "I am so sorry, Jesse. About your face, about giving you so many chances, about even falling for you in the first place. But _'Let's make a trade?_'" I couldn't stop my voice from reaching super-sonic decibels. "Are you certifiably insane?"

"I don't write the scripts, I'm an actor," Jesse whined pitifully, constantly checking his nose to make sure he wasn't bleeding.

"_Clearly_," I snapped and climbed out of the car, stalking down Old Fulton Street in hopes of finding a cab. Or a bus at the very least.

But I didn't cry. Not this time.

Not until I rounded the corner, anyway.

* * *

Blaine had nothing but time. It was a gorgeous day outside and he was doing everything in his power to distract himself from thoughts of Kurt or the impulse to go find him again. So he was headed for a walk, possibly another movie.

On his way out, he ran into Puck coming in—with Quinn on his arm. _Oh no._

They actually made a pretty cute couple, except that Blaine didn't trust Puck all that much and he really did like Quinn. He didn't want to see her get hurt by a confirmed womanizer.

Blaine was worried for her. And her daughter, Beth. Puck had flat out told him how he viewed women and it wasn't exactly pretty. Blaine could only hope that Quinn would be the exception to the rule. Maybe she could help him change his ways.

Blaine suddenly needed someone to talk to. What he really wanted was to talk to Kurt. But since he couldn't do that, he needed a friend who understood—or understood as much as they could. When Santana picked up her phone, she only sounded mildly annoyed to have been interrupted, but agreed to meet him anyway.

"Why the fuck are we meeting at Grand Central?" she grumbled when they finally found each other thirty minutes later.

"Because this is where we are having lunch?" Blaine didn't mean to make it sound like a question, but Santana made him slightly nervous when he didn't have copious amounts of rum in his system.

"You're one of those hipster people, aren't you." It didn't sound like a question.

"I don't know what that means," Blaine said truthfully, leading her toward Junior's, looking the same as ever. Even the people hurrying to and fro looked the same.

They took their seats and Santana began peeling off her coat and scarf, plunking them alongside her purse on the booth next to her. "I've got to tell you, you're setting the bar pretty low starting this date out."

"It's not a date," Blaine said dismissively, getting back into the groove of her personality.

"Obviously. I like my dates a little less… male," she curled her lip up in disgust but Blaine saw the glint in her eye.

She proceeded to examine the menu while Blaine looked around. It really did look unchanged; he almost felt a sense of déjà vu.

Except that there was no imaginary friend eating a sundae, no ten-year-old boy happily eating a slice of cheesecake across from him. It was as if everything was there waiting for them, but they hadn't shown up.

Kurt was missing.

Why was he even there? With Santana of all people? Her grating sarcasm a far cry from Kurt's quick wit.

He looked at Santana. "We could go somewhere else if you want."

"Nah, I have my eye on a hamburger now. No turning back."

* * *

I don't know what compelled me to tell the cab driver to take me to Grand Central, but that is where I found myself.

I stood on the street, my eyes red-rimmed for sure and my hair wind-blown and a wicked craving for something teeth-meltingly sweet. I needed to be around people but where no one would bother me and I needed to be somewhere familiar. Junior's was the perfect place.

I threw myself into a chair and immediately picked up a menu, though I didn't really need to look at it. I'd had the thing memorized since I was eight. Someone came to take my order and I rattled off my usual with a surprisingly level voice, "I'll have a slice of strawberry cheesecake. With extra whipped cream."

As the waiter began to walk away I immediately began to feel better just at the anticipation.

The plate was set in front of me and I did not waste a moment before I scooped up a forkful. That first bite brought so many memories rushing back. All those Sunday afternoons or weekends snuck away with Blaine while my dad or grandparents were never too far. I remembered Blaine and I wandering around our own imaginary world.

Was that the last time I had felt truly happy?

As I took another bite, I knew that it was what I needed. When I finished, I nearly licked the plate clean before leaning back and stretching my arms above my head, turning my head this way and that, my head still full of childhood memories.

And then I saw them.

I blinked. And then blinked again.

_Brain, not again, please_, I begged.

I had noticed a couple sitting a few tables away. An interesting-looking couple. Perfect candidates for the Kurt-and-Blaine game.

But that wasn't what caught my attention.

I couldn't help but stare; I was shaking.

_That man…_

_Blaine?_

If it _was_ him, he was with a very beautiful woman with long, dark hair pulled back in a pony tail. I was confused. Blaine had always told me that imaginary friends could only be assigned to children. Ten was the limit. That was why he'd had to leave me on my eleventh birthday. Had he gotten promoted or something? Could adults have imaginary friends? I snorted at that thought and shook my head, trying to clear it.

It probably wasn't Blaine after all. I mean, of course it wasn't Blaine. But if it was, he was just as handsome as ever, if not more so.

It crossed my mind that I was crazy.

Well, okay, maybe I could work with that. It occurred to me that if I really was insane, then I wasn't responsible for my actions, right? It was a weak argument, but I ran with it.

I stood up from my table and headed toward them before I lost my nerve.

If this man wasn't Blaine… well, I'd probably hug him anyway. It could be our "meet-cute."

The day he left me, Blaine had said that I wouldn't remember him afterward. But he'd been wrong, so very wrong. I remembered everything.

And this? This was definitely Blaine.

Maybe.

* * *

"If I eat this entire apple crumb pie it will be on your head. If I get fired tomorrow because I can't fit into my clothes for my shoot, I'm coming after you," Santana said, pointing her fork menacingly at Blaine.

Blaine chuckled. "The more time to study to become a social worker, then." She glared and he just grinned back.

She was licking the tines in a way that was starting to make Blaine blush when she asked, "Is that what you think I should do?"

"What? Of cour—" But Blaine stopped, staring across the room.

"Blaine," Santana said, kicking him slightly under the table. "Earth to Blaine?"

But Blaine didn't hear her or feel the second, slightly harder kick aimed at his shin. He was still staring, and thinking, _This cannot be happening_.

For a split second, Blaine panicked and thought to make a run for it. But then he remembered that this was just a coincidence; Kurt couldn't remember him. They never did. They always, _always_ forgot. That was what made it bearable.

He busied himself by pushing around the leftover croutons on his plate.

But he felt Kurt standing right there, next to his table. Feigning nonchalance, Blaine looked up.

Kurt's blue eyes were wide, his lips parted just so. "Blaine."

Blaine didn't answer him. He couldn't find the words. His brain had seemed to stop working.

Kurt spoke again. "Blaine? It _is_ you, right? I can't believe this. _You're here_."


	6. Chapter 6

**********As usual, I don't claim to own any of the material this is based off of. And eternal thanks to vivianaglee, hengilas, and ccmskatechick for their help.**

* * *

The rushing noise in my ears was so loud I wasn't sure if I had said anything; I couldn't hear myself speak. "You _are_ Blaine?" I was terrified and on the edge of humiliating myself, I was sure. Every instinct in me was getting ready to turn around and run.

I watched him as he took a deep breath then said to me, "You _know_ me? Are you sure?"

I was confused. But now, I was sure it was him. "Of course I know you. I'd know you anywhere—"

And then he said my name. Just that, simple. "Kurt?"

The rushing in my ears had finally quieted down but the world around me still seemed frozen in place—all of my energies focused in on the man in front of me.

That was, until out of the corner of my eye I saw the woman sitting across from Blaine stand up to move next to me. "It's about time," she said, and slowly my world expanded once more to include the rest of reality around me. "Take my seat. Please. _Kurt_." She grinned at me as if she knew a secret about me I hadn't been let in on yet, and then turned her attention back to Blaine. "Thanks for the pie," she winked and before I knew it, we were watching her graceful form disappear into the bustle of Grand Central.

And then it was just the two of us. We were left there, just staring at each other for a few moments. It was completely surreal, like meeting someone from your dreams or finding out that Santa Claus actually did exist. At this point, I had given up on any sort of logical explanation. Blaine looked almost exactly the same as I remembered him—still seemed to be somewhere in his thirties. His eyebrows, his dimples, his curly hair, and finally, his warm hazel eyes—they were all exactly the same. Those were the same eyes I had looked into millions of times, sharing secrets and telling jokes. And I was looking into them now. It was impossible, but yet there he was.

My heart was trying to hammer its way out of my chest and I was sure my face was an unattractive shade of red. I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

We just kept looking at each other until my nerves got the best of me as they usually do, and the question that I desperately needed to know the answer to rushed out of my mouth, "Blaine, are you imaginary?"

Blaine shifted in his seat and smiled slightly. "I guess that's a matter of opinion."

Then all of the other questions followed in a rush. "Why are you here? _How_ are you here? Are you here for me? What is happening?"

Blaine shook his head, his brow furrowed. "I honestly don't know. I'm just… here. I'm waiting for my next assignment."

"Oh, so that wasn't her?"

Blaine snorted. "Definitely not," he said. "You of all people should know how it works, Kurt," he added softly.

"And you just happened to end up at the Junior's in Grand Central? On a Sunday? Just when I am here, too?"

Blaine shrugged, looking about as baffled as I felt. "I guess so."

It was a small comfort, at least, that he was as confused about all of it as I was.

"Kurt," my eyes automatically snapped back to his when he said my name for the second time. "How do you remember me? That's not supposed to happen. It isn't possible."

"I don't know," I said honestly, feeling myself calm down some as we spoke. "You promised that I would forget you, but that next day after my birthday I woke up and realized that you were gone. Gone for good. I didn't know what to do with myself. I—I cried for days," I admitted.

Blaine stared at me, looking shocked and guilty.

"I just… I never forgot you, Blaine. I have thought about you every single day for the past eighteen years." I laughed; I couldn't help myself because it was all just so absurd. "And now here you are, back again. With me."

"I am so sorry, Kurt," Blaine said, his voice sincere. "They… they _always_ forget. They're _supposed_ to forget. If I had known… I never would have caused you so much pain if I could have helped it."

I nodded, understanding. Our eyes met again and I felt a surge of boldness. "I think we can come up with some way you can make it up to me."

* * *

We took to the streets of New York, wandering down Park Avenue. It was like the first half of my day had been just a particularly bad nightmare but now I was just reliving a dream that I had been having nearly every night since I was eleven.

When I was a kid, I had known that Blaine was funny and smart and incredibly nice. But now, as an adult, I discovered that there was so much more to him than that. For one thing, he was a great listener, which automatically put him ahead of everyone that I had ever dated.

As we started down the sidewalk, Blaine turned to me and said, "I want to know everything. Tell me everything that has happened in your life since your eleventh birthday." He looked so earnest, so sincere that I couldn't help but laugh and delve right in.

I tried to make it sound much more interesting and exciting than it had been when I was actually living it. I attempted to gloss over the more depressing times, but he insisted that I tell him everything. I found that I loved making him laugh, and Blaine laughed quite a lot during our walk that afternoon. The longer we wandered around, the more relaxed he became and I couldn't help but feed off of his energy.

As an adult, I could appreciate Blaine a little bit more and in a different way. I realized that he loved life and he loved people. He was passionate and able to laugh at himself and was so incredibly insightful.

"So, who was she?" I tried to ask about the brunette back at Junior's without being obvious. It had occurred to me several blocks back that I had no idea what Blaine's sexual orientation was. Did imaginary friends even have sex lives? That was a thought I'd never imagined I would have.

As a child, it had never come up, of course. Actually, we rarely ever talked about Blaine's life outside of the time he spent with me. Now however, I wanted to know everything and I couldn't help my curiosity that had caused me to ask the question in the first place. I wasn't going to lie to myself that it wasn't for selfish reasons.

"She's just a friend, Kurt," he looked at me meaningfully. "_Just_ a friend. Her name is Santana."

"Are you sure she's not a _friend_?" I put emphasis on the last word, hoping he'd catch my drift.

Blaine laughed. "Definitely. And she has as much interest in me _that way_ as I do her. I'm gay, Kurt." I tried not to let the cheer I did inside show on my face.

"Then what's that red mark on your neck?" I kept noticing the slight bruise every time the collar on his shirt shifted. "Do I want to hear this?" I joked. Not that I was jealous. Of my imaginary friend. God, what sort of fantasy land had I been transported to?

"Boxing. It's a hobby of mine," he said.

"Hmm," I tried to picture it. Then I tried to stop that line of thinking before it got out of control. This was so confusing and bizarre.

As different and crazy as it all was, I knew this was definitely Blaine. It was the Blaine from my childhood but now that I was all grown up I could appreciate him in an entirely new way. His intelligence, his humor, his looks… His smile had always been contagious, had always made me forget about everything that bothered me, and it still was, and still did.

But even throughout all of that, I couldn't shake the fear that he would disappear again at any moment; that the dream would collapse and I would wake up in my living room, in my pajamas with the DVD menu for _Moulin Rouge_ still playing in the background.

Eventually we had found ourselves at a little café off of Park, sipping hot chocolates. But before we knew it, the sun was setting and the cool night air of New York had begun to settle into our skin. I was shocked to discover that we had spent the entire afternoon talking, about anything and everything.

Blaine checked his watch. "Wow, is it 8o'clock already?"

"How time flies," I commented, just knowing our meeting was coming to a close.

"That it does," his eyes met mine. "Want to share a cab?" I nodded, wanting to spend every moment I could with him.

I flagged down a cab for us and was shocked to listen to Blaine rattle off my address with ease. "How did you know that?"

He paused. "You know how I am, Kurt. I just know certain things."

The cab drive to my flat was short, but I was hyperaware of Blaine's presence the entire time. Strangely enough, the silence between us wasn't awkward or uncomfortable like I thought it might be. I still found myself strangely drawn to him, wanting to snuggle closer. But of course I was a 29-year-old man and we had just met again for the first time in eighteen years and he was my _imaginary friend_—that was an urge I was not about to give in to.

I considered asking Blaine up when the taxi stopped outside my building, but something held me back. It was too bold of me, and I needed time to process everything. But still, I needed reassurance that he wouldn't just fade away into the night.

As I stood on the curb, with Blaine hanging slightly out of the cab looking up at me with those big eyes of his, I asked, "Blaine, I need to know. Are you going to disappear again?"

Blaine paused, looking down, then he grabbed my hand where it had been resting on the door and he smiled. "I'll see you tomorrow, Kurt. I—I miss you already."

I made my way up to my apartment with my hand still feeling warm and tingly and a watery smile on my face.

* * *

I woke up to my alarm blaring in my ear and immediately I was shocked back into the world of the living. As I blinked into the soft light of early morning, the memories from last night came rushing back to me and I stayed there in bed for a moment, panicking that it had all, in fact, been an elaborate and incredibly realistic dream.

But work called and I had to push myself out of bed eventually. I went through my entire morning routine, obsessing over my sanity and hoping beyond hope that Blaine was actually here. In New York. And he had been with _me_.

Just as I went to grab my keys off the counter, I saw my answering machine blinking urgently at me. I debated with myself before reluctantly hitting the Play button.

"_Hey, kiddo. Carole wants you over for dinner sometime soon. Of course, I do, too. We haven't all had a sit-down meal in a long time. I'll talk to you more about it at the office. Love you. Bye."_

I made a mental note to try and coordinate my schedule with my dad's before hitting Delete, thinking that for once maybe the train of messages wouldn't be so bad this time.

"_Kurt, babe, it's me. I am so, terribly sorry. I have no idea what came over me. I just feel awful about what happened in Brooklyn. Can we please just talk about it and—"_

Delete. Nope, I was wrong.

"_Kurt, a little birdie told me what happened at the Met the other night and I am appalled. I thought we had agreed to cast Jesse. You can't keep dragging your feet or I'm going to have to put my foot down and you know—"_

Delete.

I was stressed enough and was not about to let anyone encroach on the calm that I was working on. I deleted the other messages without another thought and headed for the office.

Emma greeted me with my favorite mug with the _Wicked_ logo on it filled to the brim with coffee. "Here's your coffee. Here's your messages. And your grandmother is around here somewhere," she warned.

"Thanks," I muttered, taking my seat behind my desk and going through my usual sorting routine. Unsurprisingly, a majority of the messages were from Jesse. Or Harmony or Dustin. I decided to create a new pile—right in the trash can.

"I didn't bother giving you the messages from Mrs. Bell," Emma whispered, giving me a meaningful look before backing out of my office.

I rolled my eyes and continued sorting through my messages. There was nothing from Blaine. I don't know why I had gotten my hopes up.

"Good morning, Kurt," came my grandmother's voice from the doorway. I looked up in time to see her heading toward me to give me my usual greeting kiss. "How was your weekend?"

She was being oddly pleasant for the office. This wasn't a Christmas gathering with the family. Immediately I put my defenses up.

"Very restful, thank you," I said politely, jotting a few notes down in my calendar.

"I called you repeatedly, but you never picked up. I thought maybe you had taken a vacation without telling me." This was precisely why I rarely used my cell phone, despite having one of the best ones on the market (courtesy of the same woman in front of me.) Who knows what sort of annoying syncopated cacophony that would have been?

I wasn't really in the mood to do this again, my mind still replaying the night before and worrying over whether I was ever going to see Blaine again, so I chose not to answer.

She continued, "I heard about what happened with poor Jesse and Harmony and Dustin. I don't know what is going on with you lately but I helped give you access to the movie so you could make it amazing. Is there something wrong? Do you know how upset Jesse is? You're just so stubborn. So I've taken it upon myself to arrange a meeting between us all at that restaurant you like so much in the Village. Then we can really get moving with this thing."

"No," I said simply.

She gaped at me. "What?"

"I said no. I know my story, and if I'm going to be given some creative power, I want to be able to exercise it. So there will be no meeting with Jesse and we will just find someone better than Jesse or maybe there won't be a movie at all. And I happen to have a life outside of work occasionally so I was out yesterday. Yes, I was _out_. Shocking, I know." I took a deep breath. "I think this discussion is over. I have work to do."

"We're not finished, young man," she snapped at me, before turning on her heel and whisking off down the hall.

I slumped in my chair, with my fingers pinching the bridge of my nose. I knew it was childish, but there was one person (well, two, but the second I wasn't even sure was real right now) that I wanted to see. And that was my dad.

I made my way down the hall to his office, to find him talking on the phone. But the distress on my face must have shown, because he ended it quickly and immediately asked me to sit down and vent it out.

* * *

What in the world was going on with him? More importantly, what was going on with him _and Kurt?_

Blaine had no idea.

He reached into the shower and turned the water on, letting it warm up as he got undressed. He was trying to work up his nerve again. He was going to see Kurt today. He felt anxious and excited and happy and sort of filled with apprehension, all at the same time. Blaine had never felt so many emotions at once and it made him feel a little sick and dizzy. He stayed in the shower for a long time, going over every possible scenario in his head until he had nearly talked himself out from going. But the thought of seeing his Kurt once more drove him forward.

He finally got out and wrapped himself in a towel. He grabbed his razor from the sink, wiped the fog from the mirror, and began to shave.

And then it happened.

Something that had never happened to him before. Ever.

_He cut himself shaving. For the first time ever._

He watched as a dot of red bubbled up on his chin, then mixed with the shaving cream on his face in a swirl of pink.

Blaine stared at himself in the mirror in shock, not sure how to take the phenomenon in. He attempted to shake himself out of it and then continued shaving. He finished, rinsed his face, and stuck a small piece of tissue to the tiny cut.

Blaine marveled at the make-shift bandage. Another first!

He took his time getting dressed, taking care to find some of his better pieces. As he made his way out of his apartment, he ran into Quinn, tip-toeing out of Puck's place.

"Hi Blaine," she said, blushing a little. "Cut yourself shaving this morning, huh?"

"Hello, Quinn. And yeah, I did! Isn't that something?"

"Um, sure. Well, I have to get going. My mom is watching Beth and I have to take her to school before work."

"Yeah, of course. Take care of yourself," Blaine offered, looking back toward Puck's door.

Quinn smiled sweetly at him. "I always do. Have a good day, Blaine."

They made their way down the stairwell together before parting ways. Blaine started down the walk and tried to focus on the day ahead of him. He didn't have a clue what was going to happen, but he knew that it involved Kurt.

He eventually caught a cab and made his way into the building where Kurt worked. But once he found himself in the lobby, it didn't seem like as good of an idea as it had when he first walked in. _What was he hoping to accomplish here?_

"Hello?" said the woman behind the reception desk, startling him out of his mini-freak-out. "The acting agency is next door," she continued in a bored tone.

"Why would you say that?" Blaine asked, confused.

"Um, have you looked in a mirror lately?"

Blaine was trying to articulate a response when he saw Kurt step out of an elevator. Kurt's eyes immediately landed on Blaine and his face split into a radiant smile. He strode toward Blaine, looking slightly dazed, before stopping right in front of him.

Kurt's eyes couldn't seem to stop examining Blaine's face. "He bleeds."

Blaine remembered the piece of paper stuck to his face and sheepishly peeled it off. He nodded at Kurt, unable to take the grin off of his face. Not that he would want to.

"Would you like to accompany me to lunch?"

Kurt looked surprised. "I—yes. I'm starving."

* * *

When I stepped out of the elevator to find Blaine standing right there in the lobby, I wished time could stop. I wanted it to stop so I could solidify every detail in my memory as the best moment of my entire life. It wasn't when I first saw him at Junior's, or our entire afternoon on Park Avenue. But that moment in the lobby.

Because he was _real_. And he came back. To see me.

"Let's get out of here," I told him.

"All right. Where do you want to go?"

"Hmm, I think Paris. Except I have a meeting at two so we better make it quick."

"Well, then Paris is probably out, unfortunately. I'm sure we'll find somewhere good, though."

We had reached the street and I watched as Blaine snapped his fingers… and a cab stopped right in front of us.

"What was _that?_" I asked, bewildered.

"Honestly, I don't even know. I've always been able to do that."

Not long after we were wandering around the Upper East Side and I soon realized where he was leading us. We stopped at Little Brown, a chocolate shop and a favorite of ours from the old days. We each bought a truffle, and Blaine said they were for "after lunch." But I just rolled my eyes at him and said that he couldn't tell me what to do anymore before popping one in my mouth.

He smiled at me and did the same.

We kept walking and decided to wander into a small art studio on 82nd Street. I became particularly enamored with a cross-hatched, abstract painting. My eyes roved across the canvas, unable to stop in one place. "Wow," I breathed. "It's beautiful."

And then, right there in the middle of the studio, I felt Blaine come up behind me and pull me into his arms. He held me close and didn't say anything; we just stood there and took in the painting. In that moment, I knew what I wanted out of life. I wanted _this_. This _feeling_. Forever.

I turned in his arms and we parted, but he kept my hands in his. "I'm taller than you, now" I teased, giggling a little.

"Not so little anymore," he said quietly, staring at me. Yes, this is exactly what I wanted.

We ate lunch at a cute little restaurant called Sant Ambroeus on Madison Avenue. And even though we had talked endlessly just the day before, as we sat there and ate our linguini and drank our wine we just continued the conversation as if it had never stopped.

We had so much to catch up on. I told Blaine about my time at NYU, studying creative writing and minoring in fashion design. I told him about my father's second heart attack the night of my graduation and how difficult he had been since with his diet, though it was usually in good humor.

"I'm sorry I wasn't able to be there for you during those times, Kurt," Blaine said to me, putting his hand on top of mine across the table and making me shiver in a way I hoped he didn't feel.

He looked so sad and I was beginning to understand that it really hadn't been his choice; his fault. "It's okay. We manage. I managed," I said truthfully. Of course there had been times that I wished Blaine had been around, but I got by.

I didn't quite tell Blaine everything. I managed to talk around the publishing of _Imagine Me and You_ and its movie that was currently in the works. All of which happened to be based on Blaine and me.

After much pressuring, I finally managed to get Blaine to open up and talk about himself. He was incredibly modest as he recounted a few of his favorite assignments over the past two decades since we had last seen each other.

"I have so many questions about this imaginary friend thing," I said.

"I don't really have a lot of answers, Kurt. I wish I did," he looked down. "You have no idea."

It wasn't exactly the answer I had been hoping to hear, but I guessed that it was the most I was going to get. I decided to change the subject and ask him something more personal than I had dared before. But I wanted to know.

"Have you ever… been involved with anyone? Romantically?"

He fidgeted in his seat a little and shrugged. "I meet a lot of people," he said, clearly dodging my question. "I like people."

"And they always like you." I knew that it wasn't likely that he would be completely chaste or anything, but I couldn't deny the small bit of jealousy settling in my stomach.

"I have an idea," Blaine said suddenly, grabbing my hand. "Let's get out of here."

Blaine's idea, as it turned out, was entirely cheesy, straight out of a rom-com, and something only he would ever be able to talk me into. Especially when I was wearing the clothes that I had on at the time.

"Rollerblading?" I asked, deadpan, as he looked at me with excited-puppy eyes and gripping two pairs of skates. "Blaine, I'm not ten anymore."

"Oh, come on. Have some fun!" he wheedled, nudging my arm.

It was another beautiful day in Central Park where he had dragged us, and as I looked at his enthusiastic, pleading face, what could I possibly do but give in?

He led us to the top of one of the hills by the northern part of the park, where the likelihood of getting hit by a cab was less. By the time we reached the top of the hill, I realized quickly that I was not in nearly as good of shape as I had thought I was—there was a stitch in my side and I was breathing hard. But that was short lived because one moment we were at the top and the next, Blaine was holding tight to my hand and we were flying downhill.

"Blaine!" I shrieked.

"Trust me!" he shouted back, squeezing my hand even harder.

And I did. We didn't crash, we didn't become some cab's roadkill. Blaine was taking care of me, as he always did.

At the bottom of the hill, we flopped onto the grass, laughing and out of breath. I felt completely uninhibited; all of my usual rules and constrictions were forgotten in just that moment.

Our laughter died down and Blaine turned to look at me. "I thought you had a meeting at two."

"I guess I missed it," I beamed at him.

Since I was already playing hooky, Blaine dragged us to Times Square. He made me realize that despite having lived in the city for most of my life, I rarely ever went outside my usual three or four places. It was invigorating to rediscover the city with him—he clearly enjoyed it so much, his energy was just as endless as New York's it seemed.

Our dinner was a couple of hot dogs from a cart that Blaine apparently swore by. It said a lot about how much I trusted him that I even touched them in the first place. After that, we walked and talked and before I knew it, I found that we were once again outside my apartment building.

"Well, here were are," I said with all the clever wit of a teenager on their first date.

_I could ask Blaine to come up to my apartment right now. I could do it. I should._

But just as I was about to ask, Blaine leaned in close to me. All brain functions seemed to stop; his face was so close. _Yes, please._

But then he pulled away, and I saw that his brow was furrowed as if something were bothering him.

"Good night, Kurt," he said. "Today was lovely, but I think I should go now."

He turned and walked away, just like that.

"I miss you already," I said quietly to his disappearing form down the sidewalk.

I got into my apartment just in time to catch my phone ringing. That was really the last thing that I wanted to hear. My mind was too busy trying to figure out Blaine. He was out there somewhere right now. And what was he, exactly? An "imaginary friend?" An angel? A hallucination of mine caused by stress? The latter was most likely, but I knew it wasn't it. All I knew was that there was that same something about him that drew me to him, and we were the same old us we ever were, just older (and hopefully wiser) now.

The machine picked up and I heard Mercedes' voice down the line. On top of everything else, I now felt guilty.

"_Kurt? It's Mercedes. I was really hoping that you were home. I haven't heard from you since I called and—"_

I picked up. "Mercedes! I'm here. You just caught me coming in the door. I did leave you a message. How are you doing, though?"

"I know you did, but I wanted to _hear_ you," she said. "It's been too long."

"It really has, 'Cedes," I said a little wistfully. Our lives just kept speeding forward and we constantly missed each other.

We talked and I found she was a good distraction for a while from my thoughts of Blaine. After an hour, I had learned all about her practically picture-perfect life she had built up in Cleveland. She was teaching music, she had the fiancé, and even a house they now shared.

"I'm so happy for you," I told her. "It really sounds like things have finally worked out."

"Right? And I was waiting for the ball to drop and it finally did. I can't seem to find a dress. You know I still wish that sometimes you had decided to pursue fashion. It could be you designing my dress right now."

I snorted. "You flatter me. I'm sure you'll find something fabulous."

I heard her sigh. "I sure hope so. Anyway, how are you? What's going on in your life?"

"Not a lot, really. Just work, work, work," I joked.

"Isn't that the truth," she chuckled.

_And, oh, I just may be falling in love with the most perfect man in the world. He's kind, funny, smart, and so incredibly handsome. But he might be just a figment of my imagination._


	7. Chapter 7

**************As usual, I don't claim to own any of the material this is based off of. And eternal thanks to vivianaglee, hengilas, and ccmskatechick for their help.**

* * *

Blaine was waiting outside my building for me the next morning, just like he used to, so many years ago.

And he looked real to me. Solid, clear. Not a hallucination. I was pretty sure.

"Good morning, Kurt," he said, still looking slightly sleepy and adorable. "Did you sleep well?"

"Slept like a log," I lied. "Yourself?"

"The same," he said, smiling a little.

I wasn't sure where we were headed, but we fell into step with each other as we walked down the sidewalk. Just like we used to when he would walk me to the bus stop for school. Was he here to watch over me again? What for? And why didn't Blaine have any answers? He used to know everything when I was a kid. He never seemed unsure or nervous. Seeing him like this now made him seem all the more human.

It looked as if the string of good weather we had enjoyed had come to an end that morning. It was chilly and the sky was overcast, just threatening to rain.

We chit-chatted pleasantly, and for the first time I felt as if something tenuous was between us. I told him about my conversation with Mercedes the night before, offhandedly joking about her wish that I design her dress and Blaine's eyes widened.

"Why not?"

"I don't have the time," I brushed the question off, feeling slightly bad. I expected him to push me, but he just nodded.

Suddenly, there was a crack of thunder and the sky burst open, pouring rain.

"Come on!" Blaine shouted over the din, grabbing my hand and pulling us into a nearby Starbucks. We burst into the shop, thankfully only slightly worse for wear. We looked at each other, and just started laughing. I immediately felt any tension between us just melt away.

"So, while we're here… do you want something? My treat," Blaine offered, shaking his head a little and flinging droplets of water around him.

I checked the weather outside. It just looked like a flash downpour. With any luck, we could wait it out. "All right," I agreed.

Blaine stepped up to the counter and ordered a medium drip and my usual before I could even tell him what it was.

"You know my coffee order?"

Blaine hesitated as he handed some cash over to the barista behind the counter. "Of course I do."

He was just full of surprises. We sat down with our coffees and the muffins Blaine had ordered but I found I wasn't terribly hungry, so I picked at my muffin more than ate any of it. I listened as Blaine told me more about his boxing adventures.

By the time we were finished, I had been right about the weather. It was still cloudy but not raining anymore, thankfully. Blaine paused at the corner, checking his watch.

"I'm keeping you from work. I'm sorry that I keep doing that," he said as he shifted on his feet.

"Don't worry about it," I said. Once again, we found ourselves gravitating toward each other. I leaned in, inwardly cheering that it was finally going to happen. _Just a little bit closer_.

Except.

"I'll see you later," Blaine pulled back, his face blank.

"Okay," except it wasn't. I was not about to let him get away this time. So I clutched his arm and pulled him back toward me, then kissed him—on the cheek. Just from that quick contact I could smell the dampness from the rain and a cologne I couldn't place but would now would forever associate as _Blaine_.

He was looking at me, slightly bewildered now, but he didn't look unhappy.

"I'll see you later, Blaine. Miss you already."

"I—I miss you already, too," he said, and stood there as I hailed a cab and drove off to work.

Inside the taxi, I couldn't stop grinning. I was _happy_.

* * *

Blaine was actually really happy, in a tortured sort of way.

He didn't know who else to talk to about this, so while Kurt was at work, he got together with a bunch of his best friends and told them everything that had happened. "He remembers everything. The afternoons spent at Junior's, our games, that horrific day I had to leave him, _everything_."

Everyone in the group was shocked, they had never heard of anything like it. "Just be careful, Blaine," said Wes, who Blaine considered to be his closest friend of the group. "For both your sakes. There is a reason they forget us. That's how it has always been. There's something strange happening here."

"You think?" Blaine said sarcastically.

It was almost six when Blaine showed up at Kurt's office, just like he had promised. He said hello again to the receptionist, Lauren.

"I don't know if he's expecting me," Blaine told her.

She laughed. "Oh, he's expecting you. Keeps checking in down here to see if you'd turned up." She proceeded to call Kurt and not too long after, he appeared smiling that brilliant smile.

"Apparently even when I'm not here I distract you," Blaine said to him.

"I really don't mind," Kurt said.

"You could distract me," Lauren cut in, smiling wickedly. Blaine was about to answer but found himself being dragged out of the building by Kurt.

It had started raining again, but Blaine was prepared this time with a large umbrella that they both huddled under as they headed toward Bella Vita Pizzeria, yet another place Blaine swore by.

"Have you been to every food establishment in the city?" Kurt asked as they ate and talked as if it had been months since they had last seen each other, instead of just hours.

"I like food," Blaine shrugged cheerfully, as he munched on a slice of pizza.

"You seem to like everything," Kurt commented, and Blaine grinned at him. "So what else do you do, other than eat? What are your interests?"

"Um," Blaine paused. He wasn't often asked questions about himself; most of the time he listened as other people talked. "I like football," he said. "70s music. The Discovery Channel. Leonid Afremov. Katy Perry."

Kurt laughed. "So… you do like everything."

"Pretty much."

"And what did you do today while I slaved away at work?" Kurt asked.

"I met some friends," he told him. "Friends who are um, in the same line of work. I went bicycling. I took a nap."

"Thrilling," Kurt quipped.

"Hey now, I'm on vacation," Blaine grinned. Were they flirting? They were definitely flirting. And for that matter, was this a date? It felt like one. Blaine wasn't sure if he wanted it to be or not.

* * *

We talked for a while more and it struck me that I had been with Jesse for so long, and we had never talked this much. Blaine and I never seemed to run out of things to talk about. By the time the waiter came to take our plates, I realized that I still had quite a bit left on mine but chalked it up to being so distracted by my conversation with Blaine, I mustn't have been all that hungry.

After lunch, we headed down on 9th Avenue, arm in arm. The rain had stopped and I was feeling so giddy that I couldn't stop twirling the umbrella in my hand. I started humming, then singing aloud, _Singin' in the Rain_, and I nudged Blaine to join me.

For a brief moment we embarrassed ourselves on the slick sidewalk among a few passersby, our voices surprisingly blending well as we sang, "The suuun's in my heeeart, and I'm ready for looooove…"

We finished with a flourish, laughing at ourselves and each other. "I can't believe I did that," I said, shaking my head in disbelief.

"It was adorable," Blaine looked at me. "And you have a wonderful voice."

Things like that made me fall for him even more. I looked up, and saw that we weren't far from my apartment building. How did we get here so fast? Time always just flew when I was with him; I wanted to slow it down, memorize every part.

We continued walking, and it was quiet between us for a change. Could I ask him up this time? God, I really wanted to.

I was trying to gather up the nerve when I realized we had stopped and Blaine was looking up at me and before I knew what was happening he was leaning up and wrapping his arms around my neck.

I could swear I felt my heart stop the moment his lips touched mine. Then it sped up like a jackhammer. Our chests were touching and I was sure he could feel it. There was a full circus in my stomach and my brain couldn't seem to process anything other than the overwhelming thought of _Blaine_.

Finally we broke apart and I took a breath to say something but—

Then we were kissing again. Blaine was holding me tight and I felt like he was enveloping me completely.

We kept inching apart, only to start kissing again and again. We stood there, clinging to each other, not speaking and just breathing each other in. I could kiss him forever, the rest of my life, and never get tired of it. I was feeling light headed and didn't want it to stop. Not ever.

* * *

As I made my way up to my landing after my date with Blaine—and by now I definitely knew it had been a date—I didn't really have time to process anything that had just happened because my dad was hanging outside my door.

"Dad?" I asked, as I walked toward him.

"Kurt," he greeted me, and I noted that he didn't use my nickname. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to wait too long."

As I opened my door to let us in I asked, "What are you doing here?"

"I just came to talk. After yesterday it was pretty clear that we haven't done enough of that lately."

"We talk plenty," I said, tossing my things down on the counter and ignoring the blinking red light of my answering machine by the phone.

"Not like we used to," Burt loitered in the hallway before making his way into the living area.

"Oh, okay. Uh, do you want something to drink?"

"Water's fine," he said. I poured us two glasses and sat across from him on the big ottoman in the middle of the room.

He took a big gulp before getting down to business. "Look, Kurt, I don't know what's been going on with you exactly but something's changed."

I opened my mouth to protest but my dad held a hand up to silence me. "Hear me out. It's obvious that you have been stressing lately and you've been acting differently. I just—"

He exhaled loudly, rubbing his hands over his face. "I'm not going to be around forever, you know? And when I'm gone, the company will be yours. But I want that to be what _you_ want. I want you to be happy. I want you to do things that _make_ you happy."

This, I was not expecting. It was out of nowhere. "I am happy," I said truthfully. After today, I was happy for the first time in a long time. "What do you mean by all of this?"

"Just, take it easy Kurt. I want you to take care of yourself, like you and Carole take care of me," he chuckled a little ruefully. "Stress isn't healthy." He looked at me long and hard. "Think about it."

After that, he got to his feet and gave me a hug. As he walked out the door he said, "Carole still wants you to come over for dinner sometime, kiddo."

And I was left completely confused.

* * *

The next morning, I was out the door in record time. I was hoping and praying that Blaine would be waiting outside to join me for breakfast. As I made my way down I was crossing my fingers desperately. _Please, please let him be downstairs. Don't let him have vanished from my life again._

I strode onto the street, into a chilly, but clear day and…

No Blaine.

I felt my heart sink into my stomach. _Maybe he was late? But no, Blaine was never late. He had never been when I was little._

I hailed a cab and reluctantly climbed in. As we drove to the office, I couldn't stop myself from scanning the sidewalks we passed for Blaine's face, for that head of curls. But he wasn't anywhere.

Had he just disappeared again? If that was the case, I wasn't sure how I was going to handle it this time.

What was the point of coming back if he was just going to leave me again?

When I walked into my office, I was still slightly distracted and almost bumped bodily into Emma as she blocked me from entering my office.

"Um, in your office," she said in a small voice. "There's a… surprise."

Because I was _so_ in the mood for surprises. I narrowed my eyes and nodded at her, and braced myself for whatever was holed up behind my door.

When I opened it, it was to find Jesse sitting behind my desk, going through my messages and mail.

"Do you want to check my cell phone next?" I said, tossing the thing onto the desk and dropping my bag onto the chair across from it.

He leaped to his feet. "Kurt!" He moved around the desk and hugged me, completely ignoring my stiffness and then he moved in for a kiss. I scowled, and lifted my hand between us to push him off of me.

He didn't look phased. "I'm not mad at you anymore."

"Oh, wow. Wish I could say the same. You can go now."

"I see you made it back from Brooklyn okay."

He waited to see my reaction to his little quip, and unfortunately for him all he got was a look I genuinely wished could cause physical pain. I ignored him and sat behind my desk to start sorting my messages. When he didn't move, I sighed. "Why are you here, Jesse?"

"Because you're my boyfriend. And boyfriends forgive each other," he said.

_No_. "We're not anything and I have a lot of work to do. Please go."

Then his demeanor changed and he set his palms on my desk, leaning forward. "Look, Kurt, I need this movie role. It could be my big break into the business!" He exhaled dramatically. "Are you happy now? I've laid it out there; I'm vulnerable." He said the last sentence with a pathetic tone in his voice that I was not going to fall for.

"Jesse, I wasn't lying to you before just to be cruel. I really don't think you're good for the part."

"I am, though!" He shouted, startling me. "You think that just because you're the writer and have all these connections that you can just _toy_ with me like that? Well, fuck you."

That was it. I stood up and pointed at the door. "Get out."

"No. Admit it, Kurt. You _need_ me. You need me for this part. No one else will go for the overly-sentimental crap."

"Get out, Jesse," I gritted my teeth, unable to believe what was happening.

He stood his ground, eyes blazing and breathing heavy. "Not until you admit that you need me."

"Fine!" I shouted. "Then _I'll_ leave!" I grabbed my bag and my coat as I flew past him, throwing open the door and practically flying down the hall without a backward glance.

"Have you lost it?" I heard Jesse shout from my office.

As I was about to pass my dad's office, he came out, looking confused as to what was going on. "What's happening? Kurt?"

I couldn't speak without crying, though, so I just shook my head and left.

* * *

That morning, Blaine had jogged over to the Van Dam diner to have breakfast and say hello to Quinn, maybe make sure she was doing okay, but he found that she wasn't there. He still stayed to have his usual breakfast, instead concentrating all his efforts on trying to figure out what was happening with Kurt. Like the very possible idea that _he might be falling in love with Kurt Hummel._

According to all of the movies he had watched and books he had read, he had all the classic symptoms: sweaty palms, a racing heartbeat, daydreams, and a happy, floaty feeling that permeated every cell of his body. After the night before, he just had to see Kurt again. And he had to kiss him again. Blaine was already planning on meeting him at his office at the end of the day. There was nothing that could keep him away, even if it's the last thing he really should do.

When he got home, he ran into Quinn, with Beth in tow—and they were leaving his building.

Blaine immediately felt wary. She was crying, and Beth looked dejected as well. That was something that Blaine couldn't handle; he'd seen that look on plenty of his kids in the past.

"Quinn," he said in greeting, then immediately crouched down to talk to the little girl. "Hi, darling. Your name is Beth, right? Is everything okay?"

"My mommy's sad," she said. "She broke up with her boyfriend."

"Did she? But your mommy is a very strong woman, though. I think she'll be all right. Are _you_ okay?"

"Mhmm," she nodded. "I talked to my friend Sugar about it." Then she whispered, "She's invisible, you know."

Blaine smiled. "Ah, I do know, actually," he said, since Sugar was standing right there, looking worried. She wiggled her fingers at him in greeting. "How are you, Sugar?"

She made a so-so gesture with her hand and sighed.

Blaine straightened up. "Quinn, you're a wonderful person, you know that? But Puck… he's… He's not ready for someone like you."

"Thanks, Blaine," she said. "It's my fault for not seeing that sooner."

Then she picked up Beth and started hurrying down the walk. "Puck really is a dick," Sugar muttered to Blaine as she followed.

Blaine watched them walk away for a moment, then ran up the four flights and pounded on Puck's door. He didn't know what he was doing, but he was going to do something. He rarely, if ever, got this frustrated and mad at someone. Blaine wanted to know what had happened during Puck's childhood to make him the way he was now. This was the exact thing he tried to help children not to do when they grew up. But it was too late for Puck and he had hurt how many people?

When the door opened, Puck was grinning but when he saw the look on Blaine's face it faltered a little.

"Blaine! What's up?"

Blaine stuck his finger in Puck's face. "I'm judging you, Puck. Consider yourself judged. You have it all wrong. There is nothing more beautiful, more amazing than love in this world and you just _use_ it to be selfish. You need to find somebody to love you and try your damndest to love her back, the best you can. I thought it might be Quinn, but apparently not." Blaine took a deep breath. "Just—you've got it wrong, Puck."

And with that, he ran back down the stairs. He needed to see Kurt—_now_.

When he reached Kurt's office building, he stopped at Lauren's desk.

"I'm going to go up to see Kurt," he told her and started to walk toward the elevators.

"He's not here!" She called after him, and he turned around. "I thought he might have gone to see you. He left about half an hour ago."

"Where'd he go? Did something happen?"

"Talk around here is that he got into a fight with that idiot boyfriend of his—" Blaine wanted to interrupt, Jesse was _not_ Kurt's boyfriend, but she continued. "All I saw is he stormed out of here in something of a fury."

She barely finished her story when one of the elevators opened and Burt strolled out, practically pushing Jesse into the lobby. Blaine had seen Burt be intimidating before, but this was another level. Jesse looked terrified.

"Now I don't want to see your face around here again, I don't care what Margaret says. Got that?" Burt crossed his arms and stared down at Jesse. Jesse nodded meekly and brushed off his shirt as he watched Burt get back into the elevator.

Then Blaine watched with shock as Jesse strode over to Lauren's desk, practically shoving Blaine aside, and told her, "Please leave a message for Mrs. Bell that we need to have an emergency meeting."

Lauren looked torn. Blaine couldn't help but step in, "Excuse me, but I'm pretty sure he just told you to leave."

Jesse turned to face Blaine and Blaine could see that he was sort of classically handsome—or he would be, if his face wasn't contorted with contempt. "I'm sorry? Who are you?"

"I'm Blaine," Blaine straightened himself, trying to make himself taller. "I'm a friend of Kurt's."

Jesse's face changed slightly as he very conspicuously proceeded to look Blaine up and down. "Has he been cheating on me? Or worse, are you the actor they hired for _my part?_"

"Um, no and no. Besides, you two would have to be _dating _in order for him to have cheated on you." He did not know where the words were coming from, but he didn't have time to think about that as Jesse dove for him. On reflex, Blaine's fist collided with Jesse's stomach and he doubled over.

_Thank goodness for boxing._

"I'm sorry," Blaine said, looking down at him then looking around as he saw security closing in. "Well, I'm really kind of not. You've been asking for that, Jesse. That was for Kurt." And he strode out of the building to continue his search for Kurt.

When he reached the street, he found that he was shaking. He didn't know whether it was from the anxiety or adrenaline or fear rushing through his veins, but he didn't like it; wasn't used to it.

Blaine thought about where he could find Kurt. He thought about calling him but he didn't have a cell phone and even if he did, he had never thought to ask for Kurt's number because he didn't have a phone. And there was no point in stopping by his apartment, he figured. Kurt wouldn't go where people would easily find him.

Blaine passed a church as he walked north toward Central Park and he stopped for a moment. He had never considered himself religious; he didn't really know what to believe. He really doubted he would find Kurt in a church, but he pulled open one of the doors and entered anyway. Maybe a quiet place to think would be the key to helping to find Kurt.

He took a seat at a pew near the back and suddenly he felt so… _human_, sitting there. He wasn't sure if he liked it. But he also wasn't sure if he didn't.

He wanted answers, needed answers, and as he looked around the church he began to wonder if he would find them here. He had always liked the architecture and art of churches—all the arches and stained glass windows, mosaics and tapestries, candles and halls filled with song.

Blaine clasped his hands in front of him just as his eyes fell on the stained glass mosaic window over the altar, light streaming through.

Then, to his astonishment, Blaine felt a tear fall down his cheek. "What is happening to me?" he said aloud. First he cut himself shaving, then had snapped at two different guys (actually punching one of them!) and now he was crying?

In fact, Blaine felt a heavy, overwhelming sorrow settle in his chest. That was something else he had never experienced. _Huh_, he thought to himself. He found he didn't like it.

Blaine wanted it to stop—the worry, the anxiety, the heartache. He snapped his fingers, but nothing happened. He couldn't control this, could he? Blaine felt lost.

Blaine wiped the tear away from his face and stared at the wetness on his fingers. Then, it just came to him—a knowledge, as if he had realized something. But he instantly wished he could forget.

That sort of feeling of knowing always came before a new assignment, and he was experiencing that now. He felt he knew why he was in New York this time and why he had run into Kurt Hummel.

_No, but that _can't_ be it._

But it made sense, didn't it? This was just the last piece to the puzzle finally falling into place. It explained perfectly why he had found Kurt.

Blaine took another look at the window before slowly and quietly getting up to leave the church. He still didn't know if any of this made him believe in a higher being, but it did confirm that he was there, in this world, for a reason.

So many years ago, Blaine had helped Kurt find his way in life until he'd had to leave him that dreadful night of his eleventh birthday. And now, he was the one who was going to bring Kurt out of life, wasn't he? Blaine understood now.

Kurt was going to die. That was why Blaine was in New York.


	8. Chapter 8

**************As usual, I don't claim to own any of the material this is based off of. And eternal thanks to vivianaglee, hengilas, and ccmskatechick for their help.**

**Also, apologizing for that last ending and apologizing in advance for this one. Everyone just hang in there!**

* * *

I found myself wandering around Central Park before I stopped at the Alice in Wonderland statue. After I had left the office, I had felt the need to go to one of our "places." As a kid, the park, and that statue, was a favorite place for Blaine and me. And now, it even held some adult memories.

It was just past noon and several nannies were out and about with their kids; the statue was like a jungle gym just crawling with children. I took a seat on a bench and just watched them running around, wondering if any of them had imaginary friends.

There were a couple of teenagers on a bench several feet away from me, kissing and laughing. This time, I enjoyed watching them because I knew for that moment, at least, they were hopelessly in love.

Was I in love, too, and was it hopeless?

As I looked around and felt the cool breeze on my face, the warmth of the sun, I felt lighter. I felt free. Free of all of my responsibilities, free from Jesse, free from worry about what others expected of me. Until someone found me, at least.

All I wanted was Blaine. I knew he could vanish again at any moment, and probably would. But, love means taking chances, right? I wanted to take a chance.

I heard a voice, and I looked up to find Blaine gazing down at me.

"There you are," he said exasperatedly, " I've been looking for you forever."

* * *

Blaine looked miserable to me. "What happened to you?"

"What do you mean?" Blaine patted at his hair self-consciously, his brow furrowed.

"You look like you haven't slept in days. You look… sick."

Blaine sat down next to me and grabbed my hand. "I'm fine, Kurt. Never better." He kissed me, then moved in to envelope me in a hug. I felt him bury his face in my neck and press his lips to the skin there. I clung tighter to him.

"Let's go get you cleaned up, hm?" I said, taking his hand and leading him to the street so I could hail a cab.

On the drive to my apartment, Blaine rested his head on my shoulder and I heard him speak. "Why did you leave work?"

"Why else? Jesse showed up," I sighed. Blaine lifted one of my hands to his lips in a kiss. "And… I think I quit my job."

Blaine sat up to look at me. "You _think_ you quit your job?" he repeated.

"I… yeah. I decided that just now."

Blaine smirked a little at me. "You'll be okay, Kurt," he said.

I couldn't help but lean in and kiss him again. When we pulled apart, I continued. "I've decided that I'm done being miserable. I'm done living inside someone else's box. I want to have fun and enjoy my life. Doesn't everyone want that?"

"You deserve it," he said softly, and pulled my face in to press our lips together in a deep kiss.

When we reached my building, I finally asked him up. I led him up to my flat and felt nervous as he looked around.

"It fits you," he said simply.

I let him take a shower and set out some clean clothes for him while I made us coffee. When he came padding out of my bedroom I felt my heart swell. I had finally asked him up to my apartment, he had been naked in my shower (I blushed at the thought) and he was in my clothes. And nothing had even happened. Right then, I didn't expect anything _to _happen; I was content just to have him there with me at all.

He looked considerably better after cleaning up some. As I poured us each cups of coffee, I could see him out of the corner of my eye wandering around, checking out my bookshelves and my desk. He stopped to pick something up and looked at it.

"Kurt, these are amazing," he said.

"What?" I set our mugs down on the table and went to see what he was looking at. In his hands he held a few clothing sketches I had been working on. It was just something I did as a hobby in what little spare time I had. It was fun and something I had always enjoyed.

He looked at me. "Why didn't you pursue this?" He flipped through a few more drawings. "These are... Kurt, these are _good_. You're so talented."

"It just… it never seemed practical," I recited what my grandmother had told me over and over when I was in high school and college.

"Screw that," Blaine scoffed. "You could do this."

"Do what?" I asked, confused.

"Fashion. You can design, Kurt." When he saw me gaping at him he added, "You've got the time now."

I did. Suddenly, my schedule was wide open. But I had never been able to consider that path as a reality. It was daunting. "I'll think about it."

We sat, drinking our coffee, in comfortable silence—occasionally stealing flirty glances at each other over the rims of our mugs—until Blaine set his down and looked at me seriously.

"Kurt, do you remember when you were little and that time your dad took you for that summer vacation in Maine?"

I smiled. "He was trying to make up for missing my birthday that year. I was eight."

"Yeah."

"You and I built sand castles and collected sand dollars at Goose Rocks beach, I remember. We went to get ice cream in town as often as possible and somehow you talked me into swimming, even though the water was still cold."

"They were good times, weren't they?"

"They really were," I said wistfully, tracing the rim of my now empty mug with my pointer finger.

"Let's go back there, Kurt."

I looked up at him and smiled, playing along. "I'd love that. When?"

"Right now. Today. Let's just do it." He was serious.

I could tell something was up but I knew that if there was something going on with him, he would tell me when the time was right. And the idea of dropping everything and just leaving with Blaine sounded so appealing.

"I'd love to," I said. "But you have to promise to answer a few questions for me."

* * *

Kurt left a message for his dad so he wouldn't completely freak out that he had left, and then they were getting ready to go. Blaine was strangely excited about the nearly six hour drive.

As he helped Kurt pack his car, he told him, "I've never been on a road trip before! This is going to be fun."

Kurt laughed. "All right then." Then he paused. "Can you even drive?"

"I, um, I think?" Blaine said, unsure. "I guess we'll find out!"

Kurt decided it might be best if he drove the entire way, no matter how tired he got.

Not long after, they were on the road. They drove without talking for a while, with Blaine playing with the radio, until Kurt turned it down and glanced at him.

"Okay, first question," he said. "You dodged this question last time, but have you ever been in love?"

Blaine sighed. "The way it works Kurt, is that I forget the past after a while. It's not my choice, I just do. So to answer your question, I don't_ think_ so."

Kurt was silent. Blaine continued, "Not until now, anyway."

Then Blaine watched as Kurt's face broke into a wide smile. "Me too," he said. And it was just that simple between them. Blaine didn't think he had ever been that happy.

"I would kiss you right now if I could," Kurt told him, glancing his way.

"Well, _I_ can kiss _you_," said Blaine, and he leaned over, a little precariously, to plant a kiss on Kurt's cheek. Kurt hummed with happiness.

"How about sex?" was Kurt's next question when Blaine had pulled away.

Blaine spluttered. "One thing at a time, yeah?"

He saw Kurt roll his eyes. "Fine."

"Let's play a game," Blaine offered and they settled into a relaxed game of "I Spy" that ended about an hour later when Blaine drifted off to sleep.

When Blaine woke up, it was dark out and they were stopped. He slowly roused himself, confused as to where they were until he met Kurt's eyes. He smiled blearily.

"Where are we?"

"Welcome to Lowell, Massachusetts," Kurt said grandly. "Are you hungry?" Blaine nodded as he sat up to stretch before he leaned over to kiss Kurt deeply.

"What was that for?" Kurt asked, not looking at all like he was complaining.

"I just enjoy doing it," Blaine said, before leaning in to kiss him again.

After they finished eating they made their way back to the car in the yellow lights of the parking lot, laughing and eager to get back on the road.

Blaine insisted on driving the rest of the way.

Kurt laughed. "I don't think so."

"Have a little faith, Kurt," Blaine told him. Kurt just narrowed his eyes at him and insisted that Blaine practice around the empty parking lot first.

"I never imagined my own death before, but a car crash at the hand of my imaginary friend seems like the last thing I would have considered," Kurt joked as Blaine pulled onto the freeway.

Blaine knew he was kidding, but a lump formed in his throat anyway and he tried to swallow past it. Was this how it was meant to happen? Would the universe see Blaine's getaway trip as an attempt to dodge fate and the inevitable would happen anyway?

Blaine cleared his throat and tried to sound as if nothing were wrong. "We're not going to crash, Kurt."

* * *

"The White Barn Inn," Kurt read the sign aloud as Blaine pulled up to a beautiful wood-paneled house lit up in the night. He looked at Blaine. "Wow, Blaine."

Blaine was pleased at the awe in Kurt's voice. Why waste time worrying about the little amount of time they might have left when he should be treasuring the small things? Everything was precious. Every moment mattered.

_I love Kurt and that's everything._

"Do you think they'll let us stay so late, though?" Kurt asked as they unpacked the car. It was past eight now that they had reached Kennebunkport, and it didn't look like a place that would accept anyone without a reservation, but Blaine had no worries.

They walked hand in hand through the doors to the grand reception desk where a woman was waiting. She looked up, looking a little confused. "Do you have a reservation? If not I could direct you to a hotel down the street."

But Blaine just shook his head and gave her the name "Anderson" and before they knew it they were being led toward the river and a row of cottages by another employee.

"Anderson?" Kurt asked, curiously.

"It's just a name I picked up a long time ago," Blaine shrugged.

Kurt smiled. "It fits you."

Blaine smiled back at him. He then leaned in close as they continued walking down the path toward their cottage, whispering into Kurt's ear, "And to answer your question from earlier today. _Yes_, I have had sex before."

But before Kurt could react to his words, the woman leading them turned around and indicated the building they had stopped at, "The Gull Cottage, for romantic getaways," she grinned widely at them. "Enjoy your stay."

* * *

We didn't have sex that first night in our little cottage at the White Barn Inn. And I tried not to overthink it. We were both exhausted after a long day and had promptly passed out on the queen-size bed.

We had fallen asleep _together_, though, and had woken up in each other's arms. I could live with that if it meant I got to keep the image of a bashful, sleepy, ruffled Blaine in my head for the rest of my life.

I would have been content to just stay in bed, as I was still a little tired, but Blaine seemed to have other plans. He took us to part of Kennebunkport's Dock Square, charmingly called "Cape Porpoise." It was everything that I loved about Maine as a child, but now I could enjoy it as an adult as we strolled around looking at the shops and watched the fisherman at the pier.

We had fish and chips at the Pier 77 restaurant overlooking the water, watching the boats pass us by and listening to the seagulls squawk above us. Blaine sometimes would get this far-away look in his eyes as he stared at the horizon over the water and I desperately wanted to know what he was thinking. Every time I caught him drifting from me, I tried to drag him back by distracting him with a question about our past together and I would watch as the spark in his eyes would come back fiercer than ever.

Blaine seemed to remember everything, even some things I couldn't recall. We talked and talked as we strolled along the beach, occasionally collecting pretty-colored rocks or broken sand dollars along the way. I watched as Blaine skillfully skipped stones along the choppy water's surface and we laughed as he attempted to teach me to do the same.

When I finally managed it, we cheered as a stone artfully skipped the water three times before plunking into its depths. Blaine took me up in his arms and before I knew it we were kissing again, right there on the beach in the slowly setting sunlight. When we broke apart, we didn't need words as we made our way back toward the inn, hands swinging between us and seeming to generate a silent hum of electricity.

When the door of our cottage closed behind us, I found myself pressed against it as Blaine's lips skimmed the column of my neck before finding my lips again. The only sound in the room was that of our breathing, getting harsher with each minute.

"What are we doing?" I asked, trying not to let my nervousness show through my voice.

Blaine looked at me, his eyes wide and piercing. "I… whatever you want," he breathed.

"I want _you_," I couldn't keep myself from saying the words. And from the look Blaine gave me, I didn't want to take them back.

"Okay," he said simply, pulling us toward the bed. "Okay."

He played with the hem of my shirt a little before lifting it up and I let him. He undressed me almost reverently, and I caught him whispering words like, "gorgeous" and "beautiful" and so many other things that no one had ever called me before.

As I began to peel Blaine's clothes off, I discovered that he was, in fact, perfect. He was all firm, tan skin lightly dusted with dark hair and I wanted to _touch_. Blaine slowly climbed over me on the bed, petting at every inch of skin he could get at, and when we were eye-level it suddenly all struck me the weight of what we were doing.

What were the… _rules _of having sex with your imaginary friend?

I laughed.

Blaine's face went from lustful to confused in about a millisecond and that made me laugh even more.

"Is… everything okay?"

"Yes," I reassured him, bringing a hand up to cup his face. "Everything is perfect."

And it was. Because surely something filled with so much love couldn't be weird or wrong. It was just Blaine and I, like we were meant to be.

I leaned up to kiss him again and felt Blaine's hands slide down to grip at my hips as he lowered himself and our bodies finally came flush together. I made a noise that would have been embarrassing in any other situation, but with Blaine he just seemed to kiss me harder as our bodies found a rhythm.

Blaine's touch was gentle but firm as he traced over my body; over my nipples, down my stomach, the inside of my thighs—his mouth following the path the entire way. His focus made me tremble. I was so hard I ached and feeling Blaine against me only intensified everything.

"Blaine, please," I whimpered.

Blaine looked up at me from where he was perched between my legs before nodding and I couldn't look away as he slid his mouth over my cock. All thoughts of whether Blaine had done this before or any jealousy that might have stemmed from that flew out the window as he practically moaned around me, clearly enjoying it as much as I was. My hands found themselves laced in his hair and I was just blissfully lost in the moment of being with him.

Blaine seemed to know exactly what I liked; what I needed. As I felt the familiar tightening under my skin, the warmth in my belly he pulled off and climbed back up my body.

His arms bracketed my head as we just stared at each other before Blaine leaned down to brush his lips against mine. "Um, do you have…?"

"In my bag," I said, blushing. _We're naked together, there is no reason to blush at this point._

He smirked at me and once again I was left feeling cold and needing him closer. I reached for him as he walked back to me, dimly lit from the boat lights on the water outside the windows.

This time, when I felt the weight of Blaine on top of me and we couldn't help but rock together, there was a new ferocity, a desperation behind it. Blaine's kisses were harder and more passionate and I gave back as good as I got.

I don't know when he had slicked up his fingers, but suddenly I felt him pressing at my entrance and I sighed at the sensation. "God, Blaine," I whined, rocking my hips up toward him and loving the delicious friction I received.

"_Kurt_," he breathed. He couldn't seem to keep his mouth off of me, always mapping my skin, occasionally coming back to my mouth like a fresh drink of water each time. He stretched me slowly, taking his time and pressing that spot inside me so precisely until I was arching off the bed and practically begging for him to be inside me.

When Blaine finally pushed inside me, we were both so worked up we were breathing roughly and sticky with sweat. I didn't care. Blaine's eyes were dark and concentrated on my face the entire time, as if searching for something. When we were flush together, as close as we could possibly be, that didn't seem to be enough for Blaine. He buried his face in my neck and pushed my knees toward my chest. It was hot and intimate and perfect.

Blaine thrust into me and I threw my head back, my hands grabbing at the skin of his shoulders. It was agonizing and wonderful as Blaine kept up his pace for a while before lifting me up and changing the angle, then all I felt was a thrum of pleasure.

"I can't—" I tried to say, and arched my back as Blaine once again brushed that spot inside me.

"Come on, Kurt," Blaine said, picking up his pace. Our mouths found each other again, but not really kissing—we just shared breath. Blaine caught my cry in his mouth as I tipped over the edge and that seemed to set him off, as well. He came with my name on his lips, still rocking into me so that every sensation was heightened in my oversensitivity.

We came down together, refusing to part. He finally rolled off of me slightly, one leg and one arm still slung over my body and pulling me closer to him. I turned my head to look at him so that I could memorize him in that moment. If I thought sleepy Blaine was worth remembering, post-orgasm Blaine I wanted to have permanently branded into my memory forever. His hair was sweaty and tousled from where I had run my hands through it, his lips were kiss-swollen, and his entire body was flush from exertion. But the look in his eyes as he stared back at me—hooded, dark, peaceful, loving—that was the best part.

"I love you," I told him.

"I love you so much, Kurt," he said quietly. "I always have. And I always will."

* * *

Kurt fell asleep not long after they had been together. Blaine was wide awake still an hour later. He couldn't sleep. He just lay there with Kurt, combing his hand through his hair as he watched his steady breathing.

Blaine wanted to break something; he was frustrated and angry. He finally truly understood by what people meant when they said that life was unfair. What was the purpose of bringing them back together just so that Kurt would be ripped from him? To teach him a lesson? If that was the case, Blaine thought it was a stupid way of doing so. He hated that he didn't have any answers.

What was wrong with Kurt? Was it cancer? Or would Kurt be right and it would just be a cruel accident like a car crash? Blaine buried his face in his pillow and inhaled, the scent of Kurt already permeating the fabric. _It wasn't fair_.

Blaine fell asleep clinging to Kurt with a frown on his face. For the first time that he could remember, he slept fitfully.

They woke up together and made love again as the sun rose over the water then napped a few hours more. At ten, they took a shower together—content to enjoy every opportunity to enjoy each other. In the waking hours, watching Kurt laugh and smile, Blaine found himself sometimes forgetting what he knew. He loved the way the early morning light hit Kurt as they had a picnic breakfast on the beach or even the look of sheer disapproval when Blaine playfully offered to bury him under the sand.

After lunch, they wandered to the Goat Island lighthouse as Kurt listened to Blaine talk about how long he had been a "friend." He told him as much as he could remember. He didn't know if every child had an imaginary friend, but he sincerely hoped so.

They found another restaurant on the water at the Cape for dinner and afterward went back to their cottage. Blaine wasn't surprised that they couldn't seem to keep their hands off of each other. Being with Kurt was one of the best feelings he had ever experienced. They loved each other, and during the night they loved learning more about each other as they explored each other's bodies.

The next day, they spent the entire day out on the water on a whale watching excursion, even though it wasn't quite the right time in the season to actually see any whales. They saw plenty of seals and learned about the lobster harvesting. And Blaine would always have the memory of Kurt shrieking as a gull dived to try and get the packet of crackers he'd had in his hands on the deck. It was completely ridiculous and completely wonderful and Blaine didn't want any of it to end.

After their day spent outdoors, they once again retreated to the cottage. It shocked them both a little at the ferocity and desperation with which they made love that evening. Blaine tried to pour everything he couldn't say into the act and hoped that Kurt would understand; would remember. He wanted to give Kurt everything. He wanted to protect him and keep him safe.

Once again, that night Blaine found himself unable to sleep. He noticed how the sounds of Maine were so unlike that of New York. There was no constant hum of cars and people, instead only the quiet sound of crickets and the water outside their window. And it was so dark.

Blaine marveled over the past few days; over the time since he had first rediscovered Kurt. Getting to know him as an adult had become more than anything he could have ever imagined. He still didn't understand it, but all questioning it ever did was make him more frustrated. Blaine wanted to imagine a future with them together past this trip, but he couldn't let himself hope like that.

Blaine sat up and rubbed his face before turning to look back at Kurt, sleeping peacefully next to him. He would do literally anything to save him.

Then Blaine had an idea. It hurt, but what if it was the only way? His job was to help Kurt out of the world, right? But what if he wasn't there to do that?

Blaine reached out to stroke down Kurt's arm and it pained him to think about leaving him like that. But what if there was some sort of chance that he could cheat the system? He had to try. He _had_ to.

Blaine tore himself away from Kurt's resting form and began to quickly and quietly repack his bags. The entire time just thinking, _Kurt can't die. This will work. It has to_.

Blaine couldn't risk waking Kurt, so he prevented himself from kissing him good-bye. He gave one last look before slipping out the door.

He reached the reception desk and had them call a cab. He decided to wait outside and found that it was raining, but he didn't care. He couldn't breathe. His legs wanted to crumble beneath him. And finally, real, heavy tears began rolling down his cheeks.

_There had to be hope. Kurt can't die now._

* * *

I woke up the next morning smiling to myself, feeling so incredibly comfortable, happy, and safe. I stretched out, reaching for Blaine on the other side of the bed but found that it was empty and cold.

I checked the clock. It was past ten. I couldn't believe he had let us sleep in that late—every day so far he had plans for us.

I thought maybe he decided to let us be lazy today but I noticed that the room seemed emptier.

"Blaine?" I called tentatively, and I paused hoping beyond hope that he would answer from the bathroom. No such luck. "Blaine? Are you here?"

I got up and searched the cottage. "Blaine?" I was becoming frantic now. Blaine wasn't there.

There was no note and I checked my phone for messages but came up empty as well. I couldn't believe it. He couldn't have. He couldn't have just vanished on me again. Why would he leave me again? After everything?

The little cottage was lit up with the early morning sun, but I could tell that it was clouded over outside. It would have been the perfect day to go bike riding. I didn't know if I was furious, worried, or simply heartbroken.

I sat on the bed and felt the tears well up. I wiped them away before they could fall.

This time I wouldn't forget him, because there was no way I could forgive Blaine for breaking my heart twice.


	9. Chapter 9

**********As usual, I don't claim to own any of the material this is based off of. And eternal thanks to vivianaglee, hengilas, and ccmskatechick for their help.**

**This is tagged as __****Fic: IMY** on tumblr for when I update, if I ever post extras, or if you want to get my attention about it. Otherwise, you can bug me there at coiffedandcurly.

* * *

Men suck. Even the imaginary ones.

When I finally arrived back in New York—alone—I was exhausted. I had spent the entire drive back from Maine either crying or making up excuses for Blaine; trying to rationalize his disappearance. It occurred to me that he could have finally received his reassignment, but that didn't explain the lack of note or anything. After the six hour drive I had come to the one conclusion I had started with: he'd simply left me.

My apartment hadn't changed, but it felt empty. The last time I had been there Blaine had been with me. Our coffee mugs were still sitting in the sink.

Of course, the light on my answering machine was blinking furiously. Some stupid part of me hoped that maybe Blaine had left a message so I hit Play.

"_Kurt, just because you threw a temper tantrum the other day doesn't mean you can just not come to work anymore—"_

I thought I was done crying, apparently I was wrong. I hit Delete and listened to the next one, still holding out hope.

"_Look, kiddo, ignore whatever your grandmother says and take whatever time you need. You know I'm here for you. I'm not going anywhere so if you want to come back you can. Call me when you get home."_

I couldn't help but smile as I listened to my dad. Suddenly, I just needed to talk to him. I picked up the phone and dialed his number, trying not to be disappointed that it went to voicemail.

"Dad, it's me. I'm home. I—I need to talk to you. Please call me. Love you."

I hung up and stared at the phone, willing it to ring. When it didn't, I stared aimlessly around my apartment, not sure what to do.

I found myself wandering to my bedroom and collapsed on my bed. I felt sick and my head was throbbing. I pulled a pillow toward me and clung to it, just needing something to hold on to. I must have fallen asleep at some point, because I woke up to the sound of my phone ringing.

I didn't want to get up. I wanted to stay in my bed forever. But what if it was my dad?

What if it was Blaine?

Everything finally hit Blaine at once as he sat in his seat, miles in the air, on the short flight he'd caught back to New York. He had stopped crying, and had stopped worrying about what it meant that he was crying, but the burn behind his eyes and in his chest hadn't gone away.

So many times he wished he could turn around and go back. Maybe he would get to the cottage before Kurt even realized he was gone. But as he watched the sun rise through the clouds, Blaine knew there was no turning back. He could only hope that his plan would save Kurt.

Blaine only stayed in his apartment long enough to drop off his things. He needed to be moving, not holed up and trapped with his thoughts and worries.

He wandered around for a while, not really having any destination in mind. New York was gray and clouded over; the people bustling to and fro just as they always were. He was nearly hit by a cab as he attempted to cross the street without paying any attention. He watched as the driver drove past and flipped him off before continuing on.

He walked another block up Madison Avenue before he realized that he was, in fact, headed somewhere. But where?

It was that same, familiar sense that was drawing him forward that always told him what he needed to know.

And then, he knew where he was going.

He started running.

The people he flew past stared and a few of them shouted at him as he pushed his way through on the sidewalk. He kept running, barely noticing that it had begun to rain while he dodged traffic and headed for the last place he wanted to go.

New York Hospital.

Because he knew what he was going to find there.

Memories flashed before his eyes. Sitting across from Kurt at Junior's all those years ago, sharing secrets, seeing him for the first time as an adult, holding him, loving him.

_God, Kurt_, Blaine thought, _Not after everything that has happened. I wish I had kissed him more. Told him _I love you_ more. I wish I had stayed in Maine._

Blaine was crying again when he burst through the doors of the hospital. He'd been there once before for Kurt—when he'd had appendicitis as a kid. He bypassed the receptionist and went straight for the elevators, still following that feeling.

Room 510.

He climbed into the elevator with a few other people and resisted the temptation to repeatedly punch the floor number in his anxiety.

_I shouldn't have left him. My plan didn't work. It was all for nothing and now he's alone and in pain._

When the elevator doors opened, Blaine practically sprinted down the hall before skidding to a stop outside the room. The door was ajar and Blaine tried to take a deep breath before gently pushing it open.

What he saw next made him gasp. It wasn't what he was expecting. The person in the hospital bed wasn't Kurt.

It was Burt.

Blaine didn't understand at first, but then the realization dawned on him. It made sense. There had been a plan after all for him. It was _Burt_ he was supposed to help. It was Burt that was dying.

Blaine's heart broke as he looked at the man—pale, motionless, and so unlike the upstanding, well-respected man he had come to know during his years with Kurt. He looked so much older in that moment.

When Blaine approached the bed, Burt opened his eyes and turned his head to look at him. He looked confused but Blaine just smiled slightly back. "Burt, I'm here to help you. I'm Blaine."

Burt's eyebrows went up. "Blaine?" His voice was scratchy and quiet. "Kurt's Blaine?"

"Kurt's Blaine," Blaine nodded. Burt laughed weakly at that, but it quickly turned into a coughing fit and Blaine hurried to give him the cup of water sitting on the stand next to the bed.

"What do you know…" Burt said. He closed his eyes for a moment and took in a labored breath before opening them to look at Blaine again. "Is Kurt here?"

What if I hadn't picked up the phone to hear a hysterical, squeaky Emma telling me to get to New York Hospital as soon as possible? After I hung up, I had a moment where my body wasn't sure whether to fall apart or go speeding out the door. I could feel that my movements were stiff and jerky as I grabbed my keys and headed out, holding my head high and trying to breath. I tried to convince myself that everything would be okay this time, just like last time.

Carole was waiting for me outside of the closed door when I reached room 510. She rushed to hug me and for a moment we just stood there before we pulled apart. I watched her wipe at her eyes as she told me that she was with him when the attack happened and that he was only unconscious for an hour or so this time. I couldn't find any hope in that "only." My dad was sick and apparently it was so much worse this time.

The door to the room opened and woman in a white coat asked me if I was Kurt. She introduced herself as my father's cardiologist and I looked worriedly to Carole, who nodded at me. The doctor proceeded to tell me what had happened, using a bunch of big words I didn't understand and none of it making me feel any better with knowing. "He's been asking for you," she concluded.

I wiped at my eyes and put on my best brave face. But when I walked into the room, my heart dropped into my stomach.

There was my dad, looking pale and fragile and so unlike the man I knew. And sitting next to him, was Blaine.

Blaine looked at me and I saw the corners of his lips turn up in the slightest smile. "Come, sit," he told me, and stood up so that I could take his place.

"Hi, dad," I said, taking his hand. It was cold and I looked up at Blaine, but he only shook his head a little, eyes still trained on my father.

My dad smiled at my voice, though. He cleared his throat delicately and even through his sickly pallor and the horrid hospital lights I could recognize the face he made when he was about to give me a speech.

"Dad—"

"Kurt. I never thanked you enough for taking care of me so much all those years. And I guess—"

"Dad, stop. You're not dying." I didn't want to listen to this.

"No, listen. I guess it bought me some time and I'm so glad because I got to watch you grow up to be this amazing young man. You and I, we've been through some tough stuff together," he smiled ruefully at me. I couldn't stop the tears from falling at this point.

"Don't let anyone push you around. Don't let your _grandmother_ push you around. You deserve to be happy, Kurt. Remember that." He coughed and inhaled a rattling breath and I squeezed his hand even harder.

"Don't talk, dad. Just rest."

He nodded. "I love you, kiddo," he said, voice scratchy.

I sniffed and wiped at my face. "I love you, too, dad. Everything will be okay."

My dad died after another heart attack a day later. By that time, Finn had arrived in New York and he, Carole and I (and Blaine) began the tortuous task of setting up arrangements.

We all travelled back to Ohio, where my dad was buried next to my mother. It was a sunny day, not too hot or too cold. It was the kind of day my dad used to complain about being stuck in the tire shop back in the day, or more recently, stuck in his office at the company.

It didn't surprise me that so many of my dad's friends flew in from the city to pay their last respects. I could imagine him perfectly in my head, wondering why everyone showed up to his funeral but couldn't make it on time for a meeting. The service itself was short, as per my father's instructions. He wouldn't have wanted anyone spending too much time crying over him. I still wasn't ready to let go, but knowing it was what my father wanted made it easier.

Blaine was there. And after all of the guests had dispersed at the small reception at the house in Lima, he took my hand and we went for a walk.

"So we know why I was brought to New York now," Blaine said as we made our way down the sidewalk. I simply nodded, not saying anything. "I was here for your father, Kurt. I'm sure of it."

I stopped to look at him. "And yet you're still here."

"That's true. Unless I really am your imaginary friend," he grinned.

I poked him in the stomach. "Feel that?"

He laughed. "I did. And I cut myself shaving quite often now."

I smiled a little at that. He continued talking, "I think I'm here because I want to be. And I want to be here because I love you, Kurt, and I don't think I could stand to leave you ever again."

I pulled him forward in a tight hug and pulled apart only enough so that our mouths could meet in a long-awaited kiss.

"I still have questions," I told him when we separated and continued to walk again.

"I don't know if I can answer them, but I can try."

"How do you explain your… existence?" I couldn't think of a better way to ask that.

"Wow, just jumping right to the big questions," Blaine laughed. "I honestly don't know, Kurt."

"Is it magic? Are you an angel?" I should have felt silly asking, but after everything I couldn't bring myself to feel anything but curious.

"Kurt, I'm being honest. I don't know. Just… I'm here," he squeezed my hand. "I don't know how to explain it."

I sighed. "And are you always going to _look_ the way you do right now?"

"You mean am I going to ever get old?"

"Yes." He still looked the same age I remembered when I was ten. We couldn't all be eternally stuck in our early thirties.

"Again, I really have no idea, Kurt."

"Well, it would be nice if I wasn't going to be the only old and wrinkly one in this relationship," I half-joked, nudging his arm.

"Oh, Kurt, you'll never be wrinkly," he laughed.

"Not if I have anything to do with it," I mumbled. "Now, how about money? How do you get any?"

"Oh, that's easy." Blaine snapped his fingers.

Nothing happened. We had stopped once more and I watched as Blaine's brow furrowed and he snapped his fingers again.

"That's… weird," Blaine muttered, continuing to snap and looking frustrated. He looked up at me. "I guess I'll have to get a job."

"What would you do?"

"I… have no idea," he shook his head.

Finally, I asked him the question that had been bothering me the longest. "Are you going to stay with me, Blaine? Or are you going to disappear again? Please, just tell me the truth."

Blaine smiled and rolled his eyes at me, tugging at my arm. But then his face crumpled to a grimace and he tore his hand out of mine to clutch at his chest.

"Blaine?" I tried to catch him as he dropped to his knees on the cement. "What's wrong?"

"My chest," he choked out.

I was frantic; I couldn't believe this was happening. I pulled out my phone and dialed 9-1-1 and propped Blaine up on my lap as I tried to speak calmly with the woman on the other end of the line.

"Blaine, help is coming. Just—hang on, okay?" My voice was shaky and I tried to reign myself in. Blaine couldn't die. Could he? How could he have gotten so sick so suddenly?

I realized belatedly that Blaine was muttering something to me in between his raspy breaths. "Kurt, you are so amazing, do you know that?"

"Don't speak, Blaine," I hushed him, brushing his curls away from his sweaty forehead. A few neighbors were starting to come to our aid and in the distance I heard the sirens of the ambulance.

"No, you have to know how wonderful you are." He reached out to clasp one of my hands. "I love you, Kurt." And then Blaine's eyes closed.

What happened next I couldn't possibly explain, and I still can't to this day.

Blaine was rushed to Lima Memorial and I was surprisingly allowed to ride in back with him. The entire time I tried not to panic—I couldn't believe that this was happening again. First my father and now Blaine. I didn't know how much more I could handle.

When we got to the hospital Blaine was wheeled away and nobody told me what was going on for what seemed like hours. I paced the waiting room, chewing on my nails until a doctor reminiscent of Clooney in _ER_ finally found me. He asked me questions I didn't know the answers to—like how old Blaine was, if he had any history of heart problems. He told me that Blaine had all the symptoms of heart failure but he seemed to be in perfect health otherwise. The rushing in my ears was back as he explained that all they seemed to be able to do was keep him in intensive care, though I distantly heard him mention surgery as a possibility before he left.

And then this is where it got really strange.

I sat down on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs and buried my face in my hands when I felt someone lightly touch my shoulder. I looked up to find a man looking kindly down at me—he was handsome with his sharp angles, tanned skin, and well-styled black hair. Behind him were two more people giving me the same kind, concerned look—a short, Asian girl in loud clothes and a tall, pale brunette man. They all looked to be in their mid-thirties.

"May we sit?" the first man gestured to the empty chairs next to me and I nodded, though my confusion must have shown on my face. "We're friends of Blaine's," he explained and leaned in slightly closer. "_Imaginary_."

"Oh," was all I could seem to say. I glanced at the others around us. "I'm Kurt."

"I know. I'm Wes, by the way. And this is Rory and Sunshine." Wes stuck his hand out and I hesitantly shook it. "I've heard a lot about you. How is he? Do you know what's going on?"

"There's… something wrong with his heart. He had a heart attack." I was so tired of it all.

Wes' brow furrowed and I saw the others lean in and whisper something to each other. "That's… odd. We don't get sick. Ever. Something strange is going on."

I shook my head, thinking back over everything that had happened. "Tell me about it."

"Blaine does. All the time. We've never seen him so happy, though."

I smiled slightly at him and he returned it, reaching out to grip my hand in a comforting gesture. And so we sat there together and waited—my new imaginary friends and I—occasionally exchanging stories and concerns, talking about Blaine. Finally, the doctor returned and I couldn't read the expression on his face. When I turned to Wes for comfort, he just shook his head. "He can't see us."

_Of course not. I'm the fully grown man with the imaginary friends._

"Kurt?" the doctor asked. "Can you come with me? This is all so strange and he's been asking for you. Follow me."

Blaine watched Kurt walk into the room with his doctor—which was another first: he had a _doctor_. Blaine had never been sick, never so much as a sniffle or a cough, and he had certainly never been held in the ICU.

And he'd never been so terrified before. He wasn't afraid of dying, but that he might never see Kurt again.

But Kurt was once again at his side and had immediately taken his hand. "Hey you."

"Hi," Blaine answered. The doctor gave his file one last look-over before giving them time alone. Kurt pulled a chair up next to Blaine and began stroking a hand through the curls over his forehead. Blaine closed his eyes at the sensation. "I must look like a wreck."

"You're alive, though," Kurt smiled. "To the extreme astonishment of your doctors, by the way. They all seem to be in mild shock that your symptoms disappeared and you recovered so quickly."

Blaine simply shrugged. "Their guess is as good as mine."

"You got off lucky, Blaine," Kurt's voice had turned serious and Blaine could see the unshed tears in his eyes. He reached up to cup Kurt's cheek; he could only imagine what Kurt was thinking. "All that food you eat… next time you may not be so fortunate. I don't—I don't know what I would do if I lost you again."

"Kurt…"

"You could have _died_, Blaine. You have a heart and you got sick and you could have died. You're human. You are _human_." Kurt said it with such ferocity that it was impossible for Blaine to have any doubts. He had already had time to suspect as much while he was being poked and prodded.

Blaine gripped Kurt's hand tighter and tried to sit up. "So, let me see if I have this straight," he said. "The whole big deal about being human is that you get to die?"

"Live and love and die," Kurt said softly, his blue eyes swimming with sincerity as he stared at Blaine. "I'd say that's a pretty big deal."


	10. Chapter 10

**As usual, I don't claim to own any of the material this is based off of. And eternal thanks to vivianaglee, hengilas, and ccmskatechick for their help.**

**This is tagged as __****Fic: IMY** on tumblr for when I update, if I ever post extras, or if you want to get my attention about it. Otherwise, you can bug me there at coiffedandcurly.

**Just the epilogue left!**

* * *

Spending my time with Blaine forced me to expand my vocabulary because what happened to him could be called nothing short of a miracle. Or magic. I still don't know and I don't want to know. What matters is that it happened.

And what happened after sometimes I'm sure is the consequence of residual _magic_ or whatever from Blaine because a year later found us back in New York City getting ready for my first ever fashion show of _my_ designs.

That first year, everything had gone so smoothly I was sure I was living someone else's life. But Blaine was there when I wrestled with my grandparents over inheriting my father's position at Bell Books and in the end somehow managed a position that allowed me to supervise as well as pursue my interests in fashion. He was there when the plans for _Imagine Me and You_ eventually fell through—and I just couldn't bring myself to be too broken up about it. He was there as I worked late nights and searched for investors and planned the show. Sometimes I still thought I was dreaming; that I had dreamt Blaine up. But every time I had that feeling, Blaine would pull me back with a firm kiss in the morning or a smack on my ass as I made dinner or I would feel the weight of him against me at night and I just knew that he was real; that he wasn't going anywhere. He was there through all of my hard work. It occurred to me that maybe that was why it all felt so simple.

But a little magic couldn't hurt, either.

So there I was, clinging to Blaine's hand as we rode together on our way to the big event. He looked dashing in his suit—finished with a signature bow-tie that I had always been fond of.

"Are you nervous?" Blaine turned to glance at me.

I gave him a look and Blaine just smirked and squeezed my hand reassuringly. "You're gonna kill it. Don't even worry."

"Easier said than done," I muttered. Blaine just chuckled.

When we arrived, there were paparazzi and celebrities everywhere in the bright lights of the showroom. After the bombardment of cameras there was the parade of well-wishers. There was Rachel then Tina then Blaine's friends—people I had come to know over the year—Santana was there to see Brittany on the runway; Puck, Quinn, and Beth (with Sugar's hand clasped tightly in her own little one.) And then Carole with Finn throwing me a thumbs up as we crossed paths. It was bordering on overwhelming, but I enjoyed every moment of it.

All of my hard work had finally come to fruition on this night. I watched nervously as each outfit was modeled down the runway, biting my lip as I caught sight of famous critics across the way. I had done it all on my own, with no help from my grandparents whatsoever. It had been freeing and terrifying all at once. Every once in a while I found myself wishing my father was there to see me through it, but I took comfort in knowing that it was what he wanted for me.

Because I was finally really and truly happy.

I was suddenly broken out of my surreal bubble when Blaine leaned over to whisper in my ear, "It's going wonderfully. Everyone loves it. You're amazing."

I turned to capture his lips in a quick kiss before turning to watch the last of the show. Only Blaine would know this, but each design was slightly inspired by him and every experience I had with him. It was just another way he was interwoven into my life.

When it ended, the crowd erupted in applause and I could feel my cheeks burning. Blaine pulled me into a tight hug and planted a huge kiss on my cheek. I clung to him, unable to believe it. Everyone seemed to love it. I wondered if my life would stop feeling like a dream any time soon; I hoped it wouldn't.

Everything after the show is a blur. Blaine and I were crowded by friends and family, people trying to drag us this way and that to after-parties and extra excuses to celebrate. But the excitement had exhausted everything out of me. One look at Blaine and I knew what I wanted to do.

I squeezed his hand in my own. "Let's go home."

* * *

Blaine had moved in with Kurt immediately after their return to New York—there was never any question about whether he would. During that first year Kurt helped him land a job as an elementary school teacher and had watched him experience his very first cold—which even Blaine will admit he handled with all the grace of a four-year-old. Kurt was there, helping him to adjust to life. And Blaine was there to support Kurt to achieve his dreams.

He really couldn't ask for more.

Blaine pulled Kurt into their apartment, spinning around to grin widely at him. "Kurt that was… that was fantastic."

"I can't believe it," Kurt sighed.

"Believe it," Blaine pulled him close to envelope him in a tight hug, inhaling Kurt's scent and feeling so happy he thought he might burst.

Kurt just laughed and pulled back far enough to kiss him. "I couldn't have done it without you."

"Well, that's just not true," Blaine spun Kurt around and backed them up into the bedroom. And before Kurt could retort, Blaine planted another kiss on his lips and Kurt's muffled reply was lost.

As was usual with them, no words were really needed. They fell into sync easily, peeling off clothes on the way to the bed, mouths attached to each and every swath of quickly heating skin they could get at.

And while it was easy with Kurt, Blaine knew it would never be boring. Part of what always made Kurt so special, what drew Blaine to him, was his spontaneity—always surprising Blaine just when he thought he had Kurt figured out.

In many ways, Blaine was glad he couldn't really remember his past—there was only ever Kurt now. It was like his life hadn't started until they met—everything before Kurt just didn't matter. Kurt was his past, present, and future. Blaine could not find it in himself to miss his life before because somehow he knew he was right where he belonged now.

And where he belonged was there in Kurt's arms. Blaine had quickly lost himself in kissing Kurt after they had fallen onto the bed. He found himself wishing he could physically lose himself in Kurt's body; get as close as possible forever. Blaine voiced as much and practically swooned at the sound of Kurt's deep chuckle and hum of agreement. "Me, too, Blaine. Me, too."

Blaine would take the next best thing. He felt Kurt's questing fingers sliding down his back and arched into the touch.

"Kurt?" the question was unnecessary, but Blaine couldn't hold his feelings in and they spilled out in the form of his love's name. He still often found himself overwhelmed with emotions and reaching out for Kurt to anchor him.

Kurt pulled back from where his face had been buried in Blaine's neck and Blaine saw him smirking up at him. "Right here, love," Kurt giggled and pulled Blaine closer again, wrapping his legs around Blaine's hips and lining their bodies up perfectly.

They fed off of each other's energy—the adrenaline from the night making the atmosphere even more intoxicating. Soon, it was just them and sweat-sticky skin; skin that Blaine couldn't keep his hands off of as they moved together.

Blaine had had other plans for the night, but with Kurt was so gorgeous laid out beneath him, looking up at him with eyes dark and shining that all of those plans went out the window. He reached down between them to wrap his hand around both of their erections, grinning at the pleased groan from Kurt as his made his grip a little firmer and started sliding his hand along them both.

Blaine leaned down and brought their lips together in a deep kiss, savoring every slide of Kurt's tongue along his while his hand continued to work them both over, increasing in speed. Blaine's own low moans were swallowed up by Kurt, but he quickly began to spread kisses down the side of Kurt's neck as he got closer and closer.

When Kurt's hand joined his, wrapping around both their lengths, it didn't take long until Blaine came with a near silent cry, teeth slightly digging into Kurt's shoulder. Their hands didn't stop until Kurt's back was bowing and he was crying his climax with a, "Yes, _Blaine_."

Blaine found himself near to collapsing on top of Kurt and pushed himself over to lay next to him, but didn't quite make it. They both laughed, still breathing hard, as Blaine landed half on Kurt—their legs tangled and nearly elbowing him in the chest. Blaine somehow found the strength to roll onto his side to look at Kurt properly. _He is the most exquisite being on earth, _he thought,_ I just—_

"Stop it," Kurt opened his eyes to turn to look at Blaine, a wry smile on his face.

"What?" Blaine asked.

"I can hear you thinking ridiculously cheesy things," Kurt replied, a glint in his eye because he knew Blaine couldn't deny it.

Blaine just looked at Kurt for a moment, his heart swelling for just how much he felt for this man who changed his entire life. "I love you."

Kurt smiled at that. "I love you, too." He leaned over to give Blaine a lingering kiss, just the slightest touch of his tongue against the seam of Blaine's lips. It was cut short when Blaine yawned. Kurt chuckled. "Tired?"

"Mhmm," Blaine nodded. "You're not?"

"Not even a little." It was Blaine's turn to smile; he didn't blame Kurt for being wound up after such a big night.

Blaine pretended to mull something over for a moment. "I guess I could stay up for round two…" He squawked when Kurt tackled him and began bombarding him with kisses.

* * *

They eventually ended up on the couch—Kurt in his pajamas and Blaine back in his dress shirt and underwear, having been too tired to find something proper—cuddling in the blue glow of some _Lifetime_ TV movie.

Kurt's tucked up against Blaine's chest, his hair tickling his nose a little and for what must be the millionth time, Blaine found himself marveling at his life. While Kurt seemed to be in a constant state of disbelief at their fortune, Blaine just embraced each new experience as an adventure, further solidifying his existence in this world, in Kurt's world.

Trading in his status as an imaginary friend seemed to be a small sacrifice in exchange for being able to be at Kurt's side forever. He got to support and take care of him like he always had. Only except now, he had the added benefit of being taken care of himself—and he had found he enjoyed that immensely. He had a strong suspicion Kurt knew, but if he hammed things up a bit from time to time just to get more of Kurt's attention he really didn't think either of them minded.

And then, curled up on the couch together after one of the biggest nights of Kurt's career, Blaine was just overcome with what he could only describe as complete happiness.

He wiggled his toes, knocking his ankle against Kurt's foot to see if he was still awake. "Kurt?"

"Mmmm," Kurt hummed in reply, only burrowing more into Blaine's chest.

" Kurt," Blaine brushed a hand down Kurt's back. "I'm so proud of you."

Blaine heard the lightest of hums but knew Kurt was already asleep, the night had finally caught up with him.

Blaine just held him tighter, drifting asleep with thoughts of how after everything, being in love with Kurt was the most magical experience of his life.

Imagine that.


	11. Epilogue

******As usual, I don't claim to own any of the material this is based off of. And eternal thanks to vivianaglee, hengilas, and ccmskatechick for their help.**

******Thank you to everyone who has been reading. It means a lot to me. This has been my baby for a long time; I'm so glad I finally wrote it all down and so many people enjoy it.**

* * *

At a table nestled in the Junior's at Grand Central Station, Blaine was seated across from an adorable, bright-eyed five-year-old girl named Charlotte, who absolutely insisted on being called Charlie.

Charlie was Blaine's latest mission. And while Blaine tried to do something different and exciting with each of his kids, he just could not resist bringing her to Junior's on the cloudy Sunday afternoon. The place was all about memories—for remembering some and creating new ones.

The waiter placed a strawberry sundae with extra whipped cream in from of him.

"Thank you," Blaine told him, and watched as Charlie eyed his dish a little enviously. The waiter had already brought her dessert—a fudge cake with so much chocolate Blaine was sure she would be bouncing off the walls in no time. And yet—

"Do you want my whipped cream?" he asked and chuckled when she nodded her head furiously, her curled pigtails bobbing along with the motion. He placed the huge dollop on top of her cake and watched as her face lit up with the most amazing smile.

Blaine was so tempted to teach her something he would call the Charlie-and-Blaine game, but no, he resisted. He would need to come up with something even better for her soon.

"Charlie, look!"

Charlie whipped her head around to see what Blaine was pointing at.

"Here comes Papa and Nathan!" Blaine exclaimed, and he felt the familiar tingle of excitement, the butterflies in his stomach that he always felt every time he saw Kurt.

Kurt had taken their two-year-old, Nathan, to the restroom and was now hurrying through the diner back toward Blaine and Charlie. Blaine couldn't help but laugh when he saw Nathan was babbling Kurt's ear off, a constant stream of "iceskeem iceskeem iceskeem" in his eagerness to get back to his own treat. Blaine saw Kurt smile back at him and he just felt so content, so lucky to have Kurt and to have their little family.

"Now can we eat, Daddy?" Charlie asked, her big eyes shining with hope. Blaine looked to Kurt, who nodded, and gave the go-ahead and watched as she proceeded to shovel a spoonful of chocolate cake into her mouth.

Kurt slid into the booth next to him after placing Nathan in his high chair, and Blaine turned to look at him and whispered, "I missed you."

Kurt's look of amusement at their daughter melted into something softer as he looked on at Blaine. "I missed you, too. But now I'm here." Kurt smiled his contagious smile, leaning over to give Blaine a quick peck on the cheek. "Now give me my cheesecake."

Blaine laughed as he slid the plate over to his husband and Kurt immediately dug in. Some things never changed—and Blaine couldn't imagine why he would want them to.


End file.
